LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


IL 


GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 


GHOSTS 
I  HAVE  SEEN 


AND  OTHER  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES 


BY 


VIOLET  TWEEDALE 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  "  SILK  DRESS  "  AND  "  RUMPUS  "...       i 

II  THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL  ...     14 

III  CURIOUS  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES     ...     33 

IV  EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS    ....     48 
V  THE  MAN  IN  THE  MARYLEBONE  ROAD  .     .     66 

VI  THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE    ...     74 

VII    PILGRIMS  AND  STRANGERS 91 

VIII    SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS 98 

IX  POMPEY  AND  THE  DUCHESS   .        .        .        .        .114 

X    THE  INVISIBLE  HANDS 124 

XI    DAWNS 133 

XII  PEACOCK'S    FEATHERS  —  THE    SKELETON 

HAND  AT  MONTE  CARLO 146 

XIII  I  COMMIT  MURDER 157 

XIV  THE  ANGEL  OF  LOURDES 175 

XV  THE  WRAITH  OF  THE  ARMY  GENTLEMAN  .   184 

XVI    AN  AUSTRIAN  ADVENTURE 197 

XVII    ACROSS  THE  THRESHOLD 211 

XVIII    HAUNTED  ROOMS 221 

XIX  "  THE  NEW  JEANNE  D'ARC  "   .     .     .     .241 

XX  HAUNTED  HOUSES — "  CASTEL  A  MARE"  .  251 

XXI    THE  SEQUEL 263 

XXII    THE  HAUNTED  LODGE 276 

XXIII  AURAS 291 

XXIV  ADIEU 307 


GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 


GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

CHAPTER  I 

"  SILK   DRESS  "   AND   "  RUMPUS  " 

FROM  the  terrible  conditions  of  the  present  I 
have  turned  back  to  the  past,  for  a  little  joy 
and  a  great  deliverance. 

In  the  present  one  lives  no  longer  from  day  to  day, 
but  from  hour  to  hour,  and  even  a  fleeting  memory 
of  the  joys  that  are  no  more  refreshes  the  soul  — 
wearied,  and  fainting  with  a  pallid  anxiety  that  wraith- 
like  envelops  the  whole  being  in  a  thrall  of  sadness. 

To-day  I  heard  music  which  I  had  known  and  loved 
in  the  happy,  careless  long  ago,  and  whilst  I  was  lost 
in  a  dream  of  half-forgotten  bliss  I  smelt  the  fragrance 
of  mimosa  flower.  I  cannot  describe  the  sensations 
of  joy  that  thrilled  through  my  whole  being.  An 
involuntary  moving  of  the  spirit,  an  emergence  into 
a  dream  world,  described  by  the  Greeks  as  "  ecstasy." 
The  music  fashioned  the  invisible  link,  and  I  was 
back  again  on  a  hillside  where  the  mimosa  grew  in 
native  abundance.  Now,  one  thinks  of  France  only 
as  a  hideous  battle  plain,  but  memory,  the  true  dis- 
pensator  of  time,  is  never  bound  by  years.  She  keeps 
ever  fresh,  in  glowing  colors,  those  ideal  moments 
that  gather  up  the  utter  joys  of  life  into  one  divine 
sheaf  of  memory. 


2  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

It  is  not  only  for  its  great  uses  that  we  must  have 
memory,  but  for  its  joys.  It  rends  the  gray  veil 
shrouding  present  existence,  and  shows  us  life  as  what 
it  really  is.  A  phantasmagoria  of  wonder,  wrapped 
in  mystery. 

The  day  of  miracles  is  not  past,  it  never  will  be 
past,  but  if  you  want  miracles  you  must  have  the  power 
of  seeing  them. 

I  have  written  in  this  book  of  the  miracles  I  have 
seen.  Some  of  them  any  one  can  see,  others  are  re- 
served for  the  delectation  of  the  few. 

I  have  written  of  strange  visitants  from  other 
realms,  and  of  that  vivid  illumination  which  at  mo- 
ments lays  bare  the  hidden  springs  of  life,  when  the 
spirit  emerges  beyond  the  limit  of  human  thought, 
and  familiar  things,  beyond  the  horizon  of  life,  and 
touches  a  sphere  beyond  immortality.  It  is  a  condi- 
tion that  the  grave  has  nothing  to  do  with,  a  behold- 
ing beyond  the  frontiers  of  the  soul. 

I  have  written  of  the  spiritual  life,  for  without  this 
spiritual  life  a  palace  would  be  no  wider  than  a  tomb. 
The  vastness  of  the  spirit  world  defies  description.  It 
can  choose  its  own  pathways,  and  any  one  of  these 
long,  long  roads  leading  to  the  great  mysteries. 

It  is  now  almost  universally  acknowledged  that 
psychic  experiences,  of  a  specific  nature,  occur  at 
certain  times  to  certain  people,  that  are  not  explicable 
by  any  known  science.  Generally,  they  are  experi- 
ences which  point  to  the  continuity  of  the  human 
consciousness  with  a  wider  spiritual  environment,  from 
which  the  normal  man  is  shut  off. 

A  few  such  experiences  that  have  come  to  me  I 
record. 

I  hope  that  I  have  never  tried  to  convince  others 


"  SILK  DRESS  "  AND  "  RUMPUS  "       3 

of  the  truth  of  these  experiences.  If  I  have  done  so 
it  has  been  unconsciously  done.  I  am  absolutely 
persuaded  that  such  phenomena  can  only  become  con- 
vincing when  personally  experienced.  Such  matters 
ought  not  to  be  accepted  on  hearsay.  It  is  mere  folly 
for  one  woman  to  attempt  to  demonstrate  to  another 
the  existence  of  the  human  soul.  The  most  that  A 
can  communicate  to  B,  of  any  part  of  her  own  experi- 
ences, is  so  much  of  it  as  is  common  to  the  experiences 
of  both. 

I  have  proved  conclusively  to  my  own  consciousness 
that  I  am  linked  up  with  a  wider  consciousness  from 
which,  at  times,  such  experiences  flow  in. 

I  know  my  soul  to  be  in  touch  with  a  greater  soul, 
which  at  moments  enters  into  communication  with  me, 
and  opens  out  a  vastness  which  it  is  impossible  to 
translate  into  words,  and  which  annihilates  space  and 
time. 

I  have  had  my  vision,  and  I  know.  Therefore  I  am 
quite  unmoved  by  criticism  or  ridicule. 

I  believe  that  what  has  come  to  me  will  come  to 
all,  and  there  is  no  need  to  hurry  the  process.  We 
are  simply  a  tiny  part  of  a  whole,  which  has  neither 
beginning  nor  end.  We  live  in  a  universe  which  is 
infinite  in  time  and  space,  which  has  always  existed 
in  some  form,  and  will  go  on  in  some  form  for  ever. 
The  discovery  of  the  law  of  the  indestructibility  of 
matter  has  proved  this  beyond  a  doubt. 

At  some  second  in  time  our  Universe  will  be  dis- 
solved into  new  systems,  for  the  life  of  a  solar  system 
lasts  only  a  second  in  eternity,  but  that  need  not  worry 
us  yet.  There  is  lots  of  time  for  man  to  realize  his 
soul,  and  all  will  doubtless  do  so  at  some  moment  in 
their  many  earth  lives. 


4  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

The  classic  idea  is  that  the  Golden  Age  lies  in  the 
past,  but  the  Stoic  doctrine  of  recurring  cycles  in  the 
ages  of  the  world  seems  to  suggest  that  the  Golden 
Age  may  return. 

There  are  people  to-day  who  ask,  "  Is  this  the  end 
of  the  world?" 

More  probably  it  is  the  end  of  an  age.  The  harvest 
may  be  ripe  for  the  sickle  to  be  thrust  in.  The  opposi- 
tion of  good  and  evil  may  have  reached  their  fullest 
manifestation.  It  may  be  the  hour  in  eternity  for  a 
complete  readjustment  of  the  little  ant-hills  we  call 
great  nations. 

We  know  the  rise  and  fall  of  nations  to  be  an 
historical  fact,  apparently  based  on  an  immutable  law. 
This  recurring  phenomenon  cannot  be  explained, 
though  there  are  theories.  Possibly  the  true  one  may 
be  found  in  the  failure  or  compliance  to  respond  to  the 
challenge :  "  Advance  to  a  higher  spiritual  plane  or 
perish."  It  may  be  that  the  right  of  continuance  de- 
pends upon  the  answer  to  that  challenge. 

What  brought  about  the  decline  of  those  mighty 
civilizations  whose  monuments  of  antiquity  seem  to 
mock  our  pride?  What  insidious  disease  brought 
about  the  fall  of  Rome?  The  beauty  and  inspiration 
of  Greece  was  arrested  by  some  swift  decay,  and  the 
giant  temples  and  Pyramids  of  Egypt,  and  the  Mounds 
of  Mesopotamia,  testify  to  a  grandeur  far  surpassing 
ours. 

In  the  world's  morning  time,  before  the  mists  began 
to  clear,  we  can  trace  the  rise  and  fall  of  a  score  of 
mighty  Empires.  From  out  their  present  tombs  of 
tragic  silence  arise  figures,  colossal  sculptured  figures, 
with  faces  and  forms  of  commanding  power.  As- 
syrians, a  mighty  race,  leaving  behind  whole  libraries 


"SILK  DRESS"  AND  "RUMPUS"       5 

of  record,  chiseled  upon  indestructible  pages.  The 
lost  arts  of  three  thousand  years  ago. 

Earlier  still  the  earth  resounded  to  the  thunder  of 
Xenophon's  thousands,  and  the  chariots  of  Persia 
sweeping  after  them.  Lying  deeper  still  in  the  shroud 
of  antiquity  the  Pharaohs  emerge  as  mighty  conquer- 
ors, and  we  can  dimly  discern  in  the  Empire  of  the 
Chaldeans  the  movement  of  a  gorgeous  civilization, 
and  the  majestic  figures  of  men  versed  in  mystic,  and, 
to  us,  unknown  lore.  In  Italy,  memorials  of  a  refined 
people,  who  were  precursors  of  Roman  power,  have 
been  found,  forms  of  perfect  grace  in  delicate  vases 
and  coins  of  gold  and  silver.  The  old  Etruscan  art  is 
traced  back  to  the  Assyrians'  sculpture.  The  snowy 
crown  of  ancient  Greece  budded  and  bloomed  in  the 
mighty  halls  of  Assyria's  splendor,  hundreds  of  years 
before  Christ.  No  phantom  world  could  furnish  a 
mightier  or  more  resplendent  host. 

Reading  of  those  proud  and  mighty  civilizations 
brings  the  simple  life  of  the  Nazarene  very  near  to  us 
in  years,  it  also  shows  us  how  quickly  great  splendors 
are  sanded  over  by  the  hands  of  time.  The  British 
Museum  holds  the  sculptured  records  of  twenty-five 
hundred  years.  Whilst  the  flames,  kindled  by  the 
mob  of  Christian  monks,  from  the  great  Alexandrian 
library  rose  to  Heaven,  the  temple  fronts  of  the  Pha- 
raohs, the  Pyramids,  the  Sphinx,  loomed  out  of  the 
conflagration.  The  impotent  torches  of  the  fanatics 
were  powerless  against  such  imperishable  records. 
What  of  our  records  ?  Will  these  ancient  civilizations 
be  remembered  when  the  fame  of  modern  nations 
has  vanished  utterly?  Which  has  the  best  chance  of 
enduring  in  the  future?  The  paper  and  pasteboard 
of  to-day,  or  the  monuments  of  stone,  to  which  the 


6  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Monarchs  of  bygone  Empires  entrusted  the  history  of 
their  unsurpassed  grandeur? 

"If  thou  hadst  known  in  this  thy  day,  even  thou, 
the  things  which  belong  to  thy  peace!  but  now  they 
are  hid  from  thine  eyes." 

This  is  the  epitaph  written  across  the  tombs  of  all 
nations  now  crumbling  into  dust. 

"  The  things  which  belong  to  thy  peace."  The 
things  which  never  die  or  fade,  whose  continuity  is 
never  broken,  the  Divine  seeds  that  cannot  perish,  the 
things  which  are  immortal.  The  winged  soul  in  its 
seon-long  pilgrimages  through  eternity  to  home. 

I  find  it  easy  to  write  to-day  upon  psychic  subjects, 
for  everywhere  I  discern  the  dawn  of  what  Conan 
Doyle,  in  his  deeply  interesting  book,  calls  "  The  new 
revelation." 

To  one  who,  for  the  last  forty  years,  has  been  im- 
mersed in  all  branches  of  occult  research,  the  change 
of  view  that  has  come  over  the  world  in  four  years 
is  very  remarkable.  Every  one  is  now  interested  in 
the  human  soul,  and  all  that  appertains  to  it.  The 
speeding  up  in  the  number  of  psychic  experiences  com- 
ing to  light  is  enormous.  So  often  now  I  come  across 
"  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  see  or  hear  anything  " 
who  has  just  been  accorded  a  startling  experience,  and 
the  rank  skeptic  is  becoming  a  thing  of  the  past. 

Whilst  sitting  in  solitude  it  is  interesting  to  let 
one's  thoughts  slip  back  to  childhood,  and  trace  the 
present  life  in  the  mirror  of  the  old.  I  discover  that 
in  the  immediate  now  there  is  nothing  new,  but  only 
that  which  has  its  symbol  in  the  old.  I  seem  to  get 
only  the  much  clearer  vision  of  what  once  was  vague 
and  cloudy,  or  wholly  unconsidered  by  the  mind  of 
youth. 


"  SILK  DRESS  "  AND  "  RUMPUS  "       7 

In  that  garden  of  memory  I  can  set  old  happenings 
in  a  new  light,  and  measure  my  slow  footprints  in  the 
age-long  journey  behind  me.  Two  facts  emerge  from 
out  such  musings.  Firstly,  the  journey  of  my  soul 
takes  a  spiral  path,  which  at  intervals  brings  me  face 
to  face  with  the  old  things  that  I  have  learned  to 
modernize  by  dressing  in  fresh  thought  forms,  as  new 
perceptions  are  won.  Perceptions  prophetic  of  the 
greater  capacity  for  attainment  when  the  Divine  Power 
is  permitted  to  unfold  itself  without  let  or  hindrance. 

Secondly,  the  further  on  the  soul  journeys  the  more 
solitary  the  road  becomes.  One  by  one  the  old  com- 
panion pilgrims  drop  away.  Perhaps  it  is  that  on 
that  long,  lone  trail  the  traveler  must  be  free. 

Very  early  in  my  life  came  the  consciousness  that 
everywhere  about  me,  in  the  infinitely  above,  in  the 
infinitely  below,  permeating  heart,  mind  and  soul,  is 
life  —  endless,  eternal. 

On  this  shoreless  ocean  of  existence,  without  form 
or  name,  the  soul  is  afloat.  Birth  and  death  are  the 
tides,  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  ocean  of  life.  The  hu- 
man soul  is  but  a  ripple  on  the  sea  of  existence,  and 
phenomenal  life  is  but  a  flash  in  the  eternity  of  eter- 
nities. All  the  teeming  lives  of  effort  around  us,  all 
the  travail  and  suffering  to  which  humanity  is  des- 
tined, are  ordained  for  the  great  purpose  of  soul  evolu- 
tion. God  sets  the  balance  at  every  grave.  That 
which  distinguishes  every  man  is  the  vast  dower  of 
our  nature,  eventually  the  same  to  all,  the  passing  in- 
cidents of  station,  fortune,  talent,  are  mere  surface 
varieties. 

I  find  in  my  mind  the  existence  of  something  inimi- 
tably beyond  mind,  doubtless  a  common  experience. 
I  do  not  know  what  that  something  is,  but  it  is  very 


8  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

real,  and  it  invariably  shows  me  how  cribbed,  cabined 
and  confined  this  life  really  is.  I  cannot  even  tell 
what  it  is  that  confines  me.  I  only  know  that  there 
is  a  limitless  world  full  of  infinite  possibilities  all 
around  me.  I  seem  always  to  have  known  this,  but 
I  cannot  grasp  it.  True,  at  rare  intervals,  I  catch  a 
glimpse  through  a  rift  in  the  clouds,  then  they  close 
again. 

At  such  moments  I  experience  an  ecstasy  of  heart 
sweet  happiness,  so  marvelously  sweet,  so  pure,  so 
near  Divine  with  its  deep  wordless  thoughts  of  in- 
finite beauty.  Such  regions  are  not  so  much  impene- 
trable as  ineffable.  They  are  glimpses  gained  at  some 
great  altitude,  from  which  I  can  look  down  on  the 
mortal  pageant  and  behold  mysteries  in  which  I  take 
no  part,  but  by  which  I  am  encircled,  as  an  island,  by 
infinity.  Such  are  luminous  and  splendid  moments, 
when  the  soul  beholds  the  world  in  its  real  mystic 
beauty.  It  is  the  hour  of  transfiguration,  in  which  the 
veil  drops  from  the  heart  and  the  film  from  the  eyes, 
so  that  we  see  life  as  God  means  it  to  be. 

Often,  as  a  mere  child,  when  lying  awake  in  those 
nights,  whose  stillness  have  a  quality  of  awe,  the 
silence  would  be  broken  by  weird,  barbaric  songs  which 
wafted  a  sense  of  old,  wild  adventurous  life,  and  in  a 
curious  quality  of  mystery  I  saw  violet  mountains 
sleeping  in  sunlight,  above  a  sea  of  amethyst.  Child- 
ish visions,  but  sacred  nights.  Very  many  years 
passed  before  I  understood  them. 

On  hot  velvety  nights  in  June  a  curious  scent  of 
smoke  would  come  to  me,  the  measured  hollow  beating 
of  bells,  and  a  tremulous  far-away  piping.  Years 
after,  I  stood  alone  one  evening  on  the  slopes  of  Etna, 
amid  the  pale  asphodels  and  the  desolation  of  tumbling 


"  SILK  DRESS  "  AND  "  RUMPUS  "       9 

lava  fields,  and  I  heard  the  pipes  of  Pan,  the  reed  pipe 
of  the  herd  boy,  and  linked  the  past  with  the  present. 
Again,  passing  through  a  region  where  the  smoke  rose 
from  the  charcoal  burners'  fires  the  scent  of  an  ancient 
memory  came  vaporing  up,  the  unfamiliar  scent  that 
puzzled  my  childhood,  and  I  was  away  in  a  flash,  to 
wait  for  the  soul  to  free  herself  and  return  from  the 
world's  edge. 

I  had  to  journey  further  east  before  I  heard  again 
at  dawn  the  ring  of  camel  bells  as  a  caravan  broke 
camp,  and  then  I  understood  the  visions  of  my  youth, 
as  I  listened  to  the  measured  hollow  beating,  and 
watched  a  strange  medley  of  eastern  traffic  trail  away 
across  the  desert. 

Sometimes,  when  the  nursery  clock  seemed  to  tick 
more  loudly  than  usual,  I  saw  a  gigantic  water-wheel, 
and  behind  it  massive  rocks  with  the  hewn  tombs  of 
ancient  kings,  and  beyond  them  lay  distant  glamorous 
mountains,  white  sails  creeping  amid  warm  purple 
isles,  set  in  a  gulf  of  turquoise.  Sometimes  I  have 
dreamed  holy  things,  and  waked  to  find  myself  over- 
awed by  the  sublimity  of  the  vision  and  the  glory  of 
the  Universe. 

So  many  of  those  childish  visions  I  have  identified 
in  later  life,  but  there  is  one  which  eludes  me.  It  is 
a  great  white  road  leading  to  the  farther  east,  and  I  see 
it  drenched  in  white  sunlight.  Tinkling  mule  trains 
pass  along  it,  and  I  know  now  it  is  in  some  way  con- 
nected with  Ida  that  saw  ancient  Troy,  and  the  Capital 
of  Pontus,  the  seat  of  Mithridates'  Court,  and  the 
Empire  of  Trebizond.  Some  day,  who  knows,  I  may 
walk  upon  it. 

Looking  back  I  can  recollect  nothing  psychic  hap- 
pening to  me  before  the  age  of  six.  I  can  fix  that 


10  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

date  upon  which  I  became  actually  aware  of  the  other 
world.  It  all  happened  through  "  Silk  dress "  and 
"  Rumpus." 

I  slept  in  a  bed  in  one  corner,  and  my  younger 
brother  slept  in  another  corner.  The  room  was  large, 
and  at  the  top  of  a  modern,  quite  ordinary,  town 
house.  Two  flights  of  stairs  ran  down  to  the  ground 
floor.  "  Silk  dress "  was  something  we  were  ex- 
tremely interested  in,  but  I  cannot  recollect  that  we 
were  ever  in  the  least  afraid. 

When  we  first  became  aware  of  "  silk  dress  "  I  do 
not  know,  but  in  looking  back  across  those  many  years 
I  think  that  in  the  beginning  we  must  have  accepted 
"  it "  as  something  or  somebody  "  real."  Only  after 
several  experiences  did  it  dawn  upon  us  that  "  it "  was 
not  real.  By  then  we  had  passed  beyond  the  stage 
when  we  might  have  felt  fear.  After  we  had  gone  to 
bed  we  were  left  quite  alone  in  the  dark,  and  the 
nurses  went  down  to  supper.  The  younger  children 
slept  in  another  room.  It  was  during  such  periods  of 
silence  that  "  silk  dress  "  began  its  ascent. 

Just  as  we  were  dropping  off  to  sleep  one  of  us 
would  murmur  drowsily,  "  Here  comes  silk  dress." 
Then  we  lay  quite  still,  very  wide  awake  again  and 
listened  intently. 

From  far  down  on  the  ground  floor  we  heard  foot- 
steps quietly  and  methodically  ascending,  and  the 
rustle  of  a  silk  dress.  We  could  hear  quite  distinctly 
when  "  it "  arrived  at  the  first  floor,  which  was  occu- 
pied by  our  parents,  then  "  it "  passed  on  to  the  next 
flight  of  stairs  leading  to  our  floor. 

The  sound  of  footsteps  and  the  rustle  of  the  silk 
dress  became  more  and  more  clearly  audible  as  "  it " 
drew  ever  nearer.  We  could  tell  the  second  at  which 


"  SILK  DRESS  "  AND  "  RUMPUS  "     1 1 

"it"  passed  from  the  last  step  on  to  the  corridor 
which  led  past  our  half -open  door.  Then  there  was 
a  thrilling  moment  or  two,  when  the  tip-tap  of  shoes, 
and  the  swish  of  silk  on  the  linoleum  was  quite  loud, 
but  the  footsteps  never  halted.  They  always  swept 
past  the  half-closed  door,  and  went  on  into  a  small 
room  beyond,  which  was  used  for  storing  boxes. 
Then  dead  silence  fell  again. 

In  those  days  we  never  heard  the  word  "  ghost " 
mentioned,  yet  I  cannot  recollect  thinking  of  "  silk 
dress  "  as  anything  but  a  visitor  from  the  other  world. 
We  talked  of  "  it "  freely  in  the  household,  but  prob- 
ably because  we  expressed  no  fear,  no  one  seemed 
in  the  least  interested.  On  wakeful  nights  we  occu- 
pied ourselves  in  waiting  for  "  it,"  and  on  wet  nights 
we  could  not  hear  "  it  "  clearly  because  the  rain  pat- 
tered so  loudly  on  a  large  skylight  outside  our  door. 
What  interested  us  enormously  was  the  fact  that  we 
never  heard  "  it "  descend  again.  How  "  it "  got 
down  in  order  to  mount  once  more  was  a  great  puz- 
zle. 

"  Rumpus  "  was  quite  another  matter,  quite  another 
order  of  manifestation.  "  Rumpus "  always  began 
when  we  were  sound  asleep,  and  "  Rumpus  "  always 
wide  awakened  us.  "  They  "  came  at  longer  intervals, 
about  every  ten  days,  whilst  "  it  "  came  on  most  nights. 
During  the  summer  mornings  in  the  North,  when  one 
could  often  read  a  book  in  the  light  of  a  one  a.  m. 
dawn,  "  they "  were  very  interesting,  because  when 
"  their  "  hour,  five  a.  m.,  arrived  the  room  was  flooded 
with  sunshine.  In  winter  mornings,  when  the  room 
was  in  black  darkness,  we  were  merely  bored,  and 
cross  at  being  roused,  and  we  simply  lay  still  and  en- 
dured "  them  "  till  they  had  quite  finished.  But  in  the 


12  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

summer  mornings  we  always  sat  up  in  bed  and  intently 
watched  something  we  never  saw. 

When  "  Rumpus  "  roused  us  brusquely  from  our 
slumbers  it  was  by  means  of  a  demoniac  pandemonium. 
The  room  was  in  possession  of  "  them,"  and  "  they  " 
crashed,  and  banged,  and  tossed  about  the  furniture 
in  the  most  reckless  fashion.  Crash  went  the  ward- 
robe, bang  went  one  chair  after  another,  hurtling 
across  the  room.  Crash  went  wardrobe  back  into  its 
place  again,  clang  went  the  fire-irons.  Rushing 
collisions,  and  rappings  on  the  window-panes,  thuds 
on  the  floor,  rattlings  and  clatterings  of  crockery,  jing- 
ling of  brass,  creakings  and  groanings  of  expostula- 
tion from  the  old  sofa,  clanking  of  the  fireguard,  a 
veritable  tornado  of  noise,  enough  surely  to  awaken 
the  dead,  yet  out  of  the  living  it  only  awakened  —  us. 
No  one  else  in  the  house  ever  heard  it,  and  our  vivid 
descriptions  were,  perhaps,  naturally  attributed  to 
nightmare. 

We,  of  course,  knew  that  it  was  nothing  of  the  sort. 
We  were,  indeed,  very  wide  awake  during  the  ten  to 
fifteen  minutes  the  pandemonium  continued,  and  our 
eyes  were  kept  darting  from  side  to  side  following  the 
track  of  the  noises,  as  they  grew  in  volume  and  in- 
tensity. Creak,  groan,  crash !  No  mistaking  the  spot 
where  that  deafening  sound  came  from.  That  was  the 
old  mahogany  wardrobe  being  hurled  face  downwards 
on  the  floor,  but  whilst  our  eyes  were  riveted  on  its 
statuesque  and  utter  immobility  jingle,  clank,  from 
the  fender,  where  the  fire-irons  commenced  to  jig.  A 
wildly  confused  uproar  over  all  the  room,  then  boom, 
thud,  beneath  us,  and  our  beds  shivered  convulsively, 
and  sent  thrills  of  wild  excitement  coursing  through 
our  nerves. 


"  SILK  DRESS  "  AND  "  RUMPUS  "     13 

Suddenly  the  tumult  would  cease.  The  mystery 
lay  in  the  fact  that  we  never  saw  anything  move, 
though  we  distinctly  heard  everything  moving,  and 
could  feel  our  beds  reel  beneath  us. 

I  have  no  explanations  to  offer  of  those  happenings. 
They  are  very  clearly  fixed  in  my  objective  memory, 
and  when  we  were  both  grown  up,  and  had  finally 
left  that  house  my  brother  used  often  to  say  to  me, 
"  Do  you  remember  *  Silk  Dress  '  and  '  Rumpus  '  ?  " 

Such  recollections  crowd  back  upon  me  now,  with 
many  other  images  of  childhood.  No  sooner  do  I 
recollect  one  than  another  emerges  like  a  shining  cloud 
from  below  the  horizon.  Where  have  they  been  lying 
hidden  during  all  those  flying  years?  They  have 
dwelt  deep  down  in  the  eternal  memory,  the  heart  of 
God  which  beats  in  all  humanity.  Within  that  heart 
are  stored  seonic  treasures.  They  lie  ever  in  wait  to 
be  bidden  arise  and  cross  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   GHOST   OF   BROUGHTON    HALL 

I  WAS  about  six  years  old  when  my  family  moved 
to  a  brand  new  house  in  Claremont  Crescent, 
that  had  just  been  erected  on  the  outskirts  of 
Edinburgh.  There  were  still  some  green  fields  un- 
built upon,  and  some  fine  old  trees  left  standing  close 
to  us,  and  those  were  still  included  in  a  triangular 
group  of  three  grand  old  Manors  —  Broughton  Hall, 
Powder  Hall,  and  Logic  Green.  All  three  had  the 
reputation  of  being  badly  haunted.  The  first  named 
stood  almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of  our  end  of  the 
Crescent,  and  was  occupied  by  an  ancient  family  named 
Walker,  who  had  held  the  property  for  generations. 
They  still  existed  as  a  very  charming  relic  of  Scotch 
antiquity,  and  they  had  always  been  friends  of  our 
family. 

The  house  from  the  outside  was  very  grim  and  for- 
bidding-looking. It  was  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  the 
curious  behind  very  high  walls,  and  was  entered  upon 
by  two  huge  gates,  always  kept  closed. 

Inside,  the  house  was  most  interesting  and  attrac- 
tive. There  were  many  closed  rooms  and  winding 
staircases,  and  odd  steps  in  long,  dark  corridors,  but 
the  rooms  that  were  lived  in  were  beautiful  of  their 
kind.  There  were  desks  with  secret  drawers,  wonder- 
ful pieces  of  Chippendale,  tenderly  cared  for,  quan- 
tities of  rare  old  china  and  cut  glass,  and  on  the 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL     15 

walls  hung  glorious  Romneys  and  Hoppners,  which 
fetched  huge  prices  at  Christie's  when  the  household 
was  finally  broken  up  by  death. 

The  family  consisted  of  three  sisters,  Fanny,  Hope, 
and  Kitty,  the  latter  a  widow,  named  Mrs.  Chew. 
There  were  two  brothers,  Adam  and  John.  The  for- 
mer lived  with  his  sisters.  John  was  a  minister,  and 
only  paid  visits.  There  was  a  nephew,  the  heir,  Wil- 
liam Stephens,  who  also  paid  long  visits  to  the  Hall. 
Though,  at  the  date  of  which  I  speak,  about  1870,  he 
must  have  been  at  least  sixty,  he  was  always  referred 
to  as  "  the  Laddie." 

The  three  sisters  occupied  distinct  positions  in  the 
house.  Mrs.  Chew  acted  as  cook,  though  servants 
were  kept,  and  she  always  sat  in  the  kitchen,  only 
coming  "  through  "  to  the  dining-room  for  her  meals. 
Miss  Hope  was  the  worldly  member  of  the  family. 
She  had  been  to  London  Town,  and  could  not  be  relied 
upon  to  stop  at  home.  She  looked  after  the  polishing 
of  the  furniture,  the  old  glass  and  china.  Miss  Fanny 
was  the  lady  of  the  family.  She  always  sat  in  the 
best  parlor.  Every  one  waited  on  her,  and  she  was 
never  permitted  to  do  anything  for  herself. 

She  dressed  for  the  part  in  thick,  black  satin,  with, 
in  winter,  a  white  silk  embroidered  Chinese  shawl, 
and,  in  summer,  old  Brussels  lace.  Across  her  fore- 
head was  a  band  of  black  velvet,  with  a  pear-shaped 
pearl  depending  between  the  eyebrows.  Over  her 
snow-white  hair  was  flung  a  piece  of  old  lace  sur- 
mounting a  wreath  of  artificial  flowers.  Her  claw- 
like  hands  were  covered  by  lace  mittens  and  many 
rings.  I  saw  her  constantly,  and  she  was  always  idle. 
I  never  saw  her  read,  or  sew,  or  knit,  and  often  I  won- 
dered what  she  thought  about,  as  she  sat  there  always 


16  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

in  the  same  chair,  year  in  year  out,  and  with  no 
companion  but  a  large  gray  parrot.  True,  her  sur- 
roundings were  delightful.  From  her  chair  near  the 
fire  she  could  look  out  on  the  quaint  old  garden,  al- 
ways full  of  flowers,  and  she  could  glance  around  her 
at  the  many  beautiful  objects  the  room  contained. 

I  especially  admired  one  Hoppner.  The  subject 
was  a  beautiful  woman,  with  a  mass  of  powdered  hair, 
seated  by  an  open  window.  Her  cheek  was  supported 
in  her  hand,  and  at  her  elbow  was  a  quaint  little  wicker 
cage  containing  a  bird.  I  think  the  artist  meant  to 
suggest  that  both  were  captives.  Though  quite  well  in 
health,  Miss  Fanny  never  left  the  house,  even  to  walk 
in  the  garden. 

My  father  and  I  went  very  often  to  call  upon 
those  curious  old  people,  who  were  so  utterly  out  of 
touch  with  modern  life,  backward  though  life  was  then 
in  the  Northern  Capital.  We  arrived  at  all  sorts  of 
hours,  but  refreshments  were  always  produced.  An 
amazingly  rich  cake,  and  fruity  old  port,  served  in 
large  quarter-pint  cut-glass  rummers.  It  was  not  con- 
sidered polite  to  refuse  those  offerings,  which  were 
always  kept  in  a  corner  cupboard,  and  served  by  Mrs. 
Chew,  who  emerged  from  the  kitchen,  or  Miss  Hope, 
who  left  her  housework  to  greet  us. 

Though  Broughton  Hall  was  commonly  reputed  to 
be  haunted,  no  one  seemed  to  know  what  form  the 
ghost  took.  I  was  great  friends  with  Mr.  Adam,  a 
majestic,  clean-shaven  old  man,  who  carried  his  chin 
very  high  above  an  enormous  black  silk  stock,  and 
often  I  tried  to  draw  him  on  the  subject  of  the  ghost, 
but  without  success.  He  took  it  very  seriously,  and 
warned  me  that  "  I  wouldn't  be  any  the  better  for  hav- 
ing seen  it.  Besides,"  he  always  concluded,  "  it's  a 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL     17 

family  affair."  The  sisters  were  even  more  uncom- 
municative. 

My  father  and  I  were  profoundly  interested  in  this 
ghost.  There  was  something  about  the  whole  estab- 
lishment that  was  extremely  promising,  from  the 
ghost-hunter  point  of  view.  The  consequence  of  this 
was  that  we  were  always  on  the  prowl.  Nothing  dis- 
couraged us,  and  we  spared  neither  time  nor  trouble. 
There  is  no  research  which  requires  such  infinite  pa- 
tience as  psychic  research.  Several  years  passed  be- 
fore the  great  moment  arrived,  and  when  it  did  arrive 
it  was  all  over  in  about  four  minutes. 

My  father  had  a  way  of  suddenly  looking  up  from 
his  work  and  saying,  "  Let's  go  to  Broughton  Hall." 
I  would  at  once  rise,  and  together  we  would  pass  out 
into  the  night,  without  either  hats  or  coats.  Very 
eccentric,  it  may  be  said,  but  then  we  frankly  were 
very  eccentric.  We  would  steal  away  together  around 
the  Crescent,  and  down  the  road  till  we  reached  the 
great  gates.  Very  softly  we  opened  and  closed  them, 
and  keeping  well  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  and 
bushes  we  would  creep  round  the  silent  house. 

I  cannot  describe  the  thrill  of  those  nocturnal  ad- 
ventures. It  was  all  so  eerie,  so  full  of  vague,  terrify- 
ing possibilities.  I  don't  know  what  we  expected  to 
see,  and  we  were  generally  back  again  in  our  own 
house  in  half  an  hour ;  but  one  night  our  patience  really 
was  rewarded. 

It  was  November,  dry,  but  wild  and  bitterly  cold. 
Billowy  white  snow  clouds  scudding  before  a  brisk 
north  wind  threw  us  alternately  into  light  and  dark- 
ness, as  they  covered  and  uncovered  the  face  of  the 
full  moon.  We  had  emerged  from  our  house  about 
half -past  nine,  and  had  reached  the  back  of  Brough- 


i8  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

ton  Hall.  The  house  was  shrouded  in  darkness  and 
dead  silence,  every  blind  was  close  drawn,  and  the 
suggestion  was  one  of  utter  emptiness.  My  father  and 
I  were  walking  apart,  I  being  right  under  the  shadow 
of  the  walls,  whilst  he  was  in  the  middle  of  the  paved 
court,  which  had  neither  hedge  nor  walls,  but  met  the 
edge  of  the  field  running  up  to  it. 

Suddenly  I  heard  him  whisper  "  Hush !  "  though 
we  never  did  utter  a  word  whilst  close  to  the  house. 
His  arm  was  pointing  in  front  of  him.  I  stared  ahead, 
and  then  I  saw,  clearly  lit  by  the  moon,  a  woman  who 
had  apparently  just  rounded  the  corner  of  the  house. 
She  was  running  hard,  straight  towards  us,  and  her 
feet  made  no  sound  on  the  round  cobble  stones. 

Terror  suddenly  seized  me,  and  I  darted  across  to 
my  father,  and  got  well  behind  him,  seizing  him  firmly 
round  the  waist.  The  woman  came  on,  rushing  wildly. 
She  had  nearly  reached  us,  and  I  was  almost  thrown 
over  as  my  father  faced  her,  and  backed  to  allow  her 
to  pass.  I  peeped  round  him,  and  saw  a  woman, 
ghastly  pale,  and  distraught-looking,  clad  in  a  white 
nightdress.  Two  long  strands  of  black  hair  streamed 
out  behind  her,  and  her  bare  arms  were  outstretched 
in  front.  In  a  flash  she  had  passed,  and  absolutely 
silently,  and  I  found  myself  lying  on  the  ground  alone, 
and  my  father  vanishing  in  hot  pursuit. 

Needless  to  say  I  very  quickly  picked  myself  up 
again,  and  joined  the  chase.  Terror  lent  me  wings, 
and  in  a  minute  or  two  I  came  up  with  him,  standing 
breathless  by  the  gate. 

"  Vanished  into  thin  air  just  as  I  reached  her. 
That's  always  the  way.  You  can't  catch  them,"  he 
said. 

We  made  a  little  detour  before  going  home,  in 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL     19 

order  to  discuss  the  great  event.  We  had  no  doubt 
that  we  had  seen  a  genuine  apparition.  We  knew  all 
the  occupants  of  the  Hall,  and  the  woman  had  van- 
ished in  the  open,  and  in  full  flight,  just  as  my  father 
had  come  up  alongside  her.  He  cautioned  me  against 
mentioning  our  adventure  to  any  one,  and  I  kept 
silence  until  years  after,  when  Broughton  Hall  was 
pulled  down  and  its  inmates  were  all  dead. 

Before  going  on  to  our  next  ghostly  adventure  I 
will  say  a  few  words  about  my  father,  Robert  Cham- 
bers, who  in  those  days  was  something  of  a  celebrity, 
and  a  very  remarkable  man. 

In  appearance  he  was  very  handsome,  extremely 
tall  and  well  built,  and  with  features  that  were  well- 
nigh  perfect.  It  was  the  fashion  in  his  time  to  wear 
the  hair  rather  long,  and  his  was  dark  and  very  curly. 
He  always  dressed  well,  in  the  style  of  the  country 
gentleman,  rather  than  as  a  town  dweller. 

In  character  he  was  extremely  independent,  and 
was  utterly  indifferent  to  two  things  —  money  and 
public  opinion.  His  intellect  was  extraordinary,  and 
it  was  commonly  said  that  he  knew  a  great  deal  about 
most  things,  and  something  about  all  things. 

In  Scotland,  in  those  days,  it  was  not  considered 
necessary  to  trouble  about  the  education  of  girls.  No 
one  ever  tried  to  educate  me,  consequently  at  a  very 
early  age  I  was  absolutely  free  to  devote  myself  en- 
tirely to  my  father,  and  we  were  inseparable.  Our 
intercourse  was  not  that  of  father  and  daughter.  It 
was  that  of  confidential  friends  of  an  equal  age.  At 
that  period  my  mother  was  more  or  less  of  an  invalid, 
and  had  her  own  attendants. 

My  father  and  I  went  every  morning  at  ten  o'clock 
to  the  old  business  house  of  W.  and  R.  Chambers,  in 


20  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

the  High  Street  of  Edinburgh,  and  remained  there 
till  half -past  two,  when  we  walked  home  together, 
sometimes  paying  a  call  or  two  on  the  way.  Though 
a  mere  uneducated  child  I  helped  him  in  his  literary 
work,  and  at  odd  hours  committed  to  memory  many 
poets.  We  returned  to  four  o'clock  dinner,  the  correct 
hour  in  those  days,  and  at  six  o'clock  a  porter  arrived 
with  my  father's  bag,  containing  manuscripts  to  be 
read  and  selected  for  Chambers'  Journal.  From  six 
p.  m.  till  midnight  he  worked  at  reading  manuscript, 
not  typed  then,  and  proof  correcting. 

Twice  a  week  we  went  to  the  theater  —  there  was 
only  one  in  Edinburgh  then.  It  was  managed  by  a 
hard  working  couple,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Howard,  who 
sometimes  filled  up  a  week  by  acting  themselves.  I 
am  bound  to  say  we  spent  most  of  our  time  in  the 
Green  Room,  and  I  knew  every  turn  and  twist  behind 
the  curtain.  This  turned  out  to  be  lucky  for  us. 

One  night  we  went  to  a  performance  given  by  the 
Arthur  Sullivan  Company,  and  about  halfway  through 
a  cry  of  "  Fire  "  was  raised.  Great  masses  of  burning 
stuff  began  to  drop  from  the  ceiling  down  into  the 
auditorium.  Instantly  there  was  a  panic,  and  a  ter- 
rible stampede,  and  my  father  and  I  leaned  forward, 
protecting  our  heads  behind  the  backs  of  the  stalls  in 
front,  whilst  the  mad  rush  climbed  over  us.  When 
all  was  clear  in  front  of  us  we  made  our  way  to  the 
back  of  the  stage,  and  escaped  quite  easily.  I  looked 
behind  me,  and  I  can  see  now  the  dense  mass  of  strug- 
gling humanity  wedged  in  the  doorway. 

I  remained  safely  with  Mrs.  Howard  whilst  my 
father  ran  around  to  the  front  and  helped  to  extricate 
the  dead.  The  theater  was  burned  to  the  ground,  but 
was  very  rapidly  built  up  again. 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL     21 

My  first  literary  effort  must  here  be  recorded.  I 
collaborated  with  Professor  Andrew  Wilson  in  writ- 
ing the  pantomime  of  "  AH  Baba  and  the  Forty 
Thieves." 

Andrew  Wilson  was  Professor  of  Natural  Science, 
and  an  extremely  versatile  person  —  a  passionate 
love  of  the  drama  was  added  to  his  many  scientific 
attainments.  We  wrote  the  dialogue  together,  in  one 
long  revelry  of  laughter,  and  I  was  responsible  for 
the  words  of  the  songs.  As  a  literary  effort  I  can 
only  describe  it  as  appalling.  The  pantomime  was, 
however,  a  great  success.  The  audacity  of  our  utter 
incompetence  proved  highly  successful,  and  the  critics 
justly  described  it  as  "  The  funniest  Pantomime  in 
Scotland."  No  wonder  the  audience  laughed  from 
start  to  finish. 

My  father  always  called  at  once  upon  any  celebrity 
who  happened  to  be  passing  through  the  city,  and 
thus  I  became  acquainted  with  many  interesting  and 
amusing  people.  Henry  Irving  was  amongst  the  num- 
ber. We  always  called  upon  him  on  our  way  to  busi- 
ness, a  little  before  ten.  If  he  was  playing  for  a  week 
we  called  on  him  every  morning,  and  often  looked 
into  the  Green  Room  at  night.  He  and  my  father 
were  great  friends,  and  at  the  hour  of  our  visit  he  was 
always  propped  up  in  bed  having  breakfast.  I  used 
to  perch  on  the  bed  whilst  the  two  men  talked.  Ir- 
ving's  nightshirt  interested  me  (pyjamas  had  not  come 
in  then).  It  was  white  cambric  with  two  enormous 
double  frills  down  the  front,  and  quite  a  pierrot  ruffle 
round  his  neck.  He  was  profoundly  interested  in 
the  occult,  and  told  me  that  a  ghost  he  had  once  seen 
had  suggested  to  him  a  particular  action  of  his  whilst 
playing  in  "  The  Bells."  At  the  moment  when  he 


22  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

parted  the  curtains,  and  looked  wildly  out,  shouting 
hoarsely,  "  The  Bells,  the  Bells!" 

Through  Irving  we  came  to  know  the  Baroness 
Burdett  Coutts,  his  ardent  admirer.  She  was  very 
kind  to  me,  and  presented  me  with  a  green  silk  dress, 
but  I  always  thought  her  a  very  melancholy  woman, 
even  when  entertaining  many  interesting  people  in  her 
celebrated  corner  house  in  Piccadilly,  with  its  white 
china  parrot  swinging  in  the  window.  She  was  much 
attached  to  my  father,  and  treated  him  with  a  humble 
and  touching  deference. 

Robert  Chambers  was  a  very  keen  sportsman,  who 
fortunately  did  not  require  much  practice  to  keep  up 
his  game.  He  held  championships  in  golf  and  bowl- 
ing. He  was  too  ardent  a  naturalist  and  ornithologist 
to  care  for  shooting,  but  he  was  an  expert  angler.  He 
was  also  a  born  actor  and  mimic,  and  used  to  keep  a 
Green  Room  in  roars  by  "  taking  off  "  any  of  "  the 
profession "  called  for,  and  I  never  heard  a  better 
ventriloquist.  He  adored  music,  and  played  the  flute 
well.  As  a  platform  speaker  he  was  extremely  fluent 
and  perfectly  at  ease. 

His  indifference  to  money  resulted  in  his  never  hav- 
ing a  penny  in  his  pocket  at  night,  no  matter  how 
much  he  took  with  him  in  the  morning,  and  one  of  my 
tasks  was  to  prevent  his  being  fleeced  by  those  who  lay 
in  wait  for  him.  He  took  any  amount  of  trouble  over 
impecunious  and  incompetent  authors,  and  constantly 
re-wrote  their  work  for  them  in  order  to  make  it  fit 
for  publication.  He  was  a  unique  editor,  and  his 
labors  in  the  cause  of  charity  were  strenuous,  secret, 
and,  I  fear,  rather  indiscriminate. 

During  this  period  of  my  life,  the  head  of  the  house, 
William  Chambers,  was  still  living,  with  his  quaint 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL    23 

old  wife,  in  the  West  End  of  Edinburgh.  William, 
who  had  survived  his  more  versatile  brother,  Robert 
(my  grandfather),  was  a  little  shriveled-up  old  man, 
with  a  dry  and  severe  manner.  Most  people  were 
afraid  of  him,  few  liked  him,  but  I  got  on  with  him 
famously.  I  have  always  been  extremely  proud  of 
the  fact  that  he  rose  from  nothing  to  great  wealth. 
There  must  be  something  fine  in  a  man,  who,  as  a  lad, 
rose  at  four  a.  m.  to  read  classics  to  an  intelligent 
baker,  whilst  the  batch  of  bread  was  being  baked, 
and  who  gladly  accepted  as  payment  a  copper  or  a  roll. 

William  and  Robert  Chambers  had  left  their 
widowed  mother  to  fend  for  themselves.  The  family 
was  at  the  lowest  financial  ebb.  Much  money  had  been 
spent  on  the  French  refugees  who  flocked  into  Scotland 
in  1810,  and  there  was  nothing  to  spare  now.  We 
were  originally  French,  like  so  very  many  of  the  old 
Scotch  families.  The  first  of  us  in  history  is  recorded 
as  Guillaume  de  la  Chaumbre,  who,  as  the  most  prom- 
inent man  in  Peebles,  signed  the  Ragman  Roll  in 
1296.  My  people  had  always  lived  in  the  dales  of 
the  Tweed,  so  very  appropriately  I  married  a  man 
called  Tweedale. 

Towards  the  end  of  his  life  William  Chambers 
amused  himself  by  spending  many  thousands  on  the 
restoration  of  St.  Giles'  Cathedral,  an  historic  church 
which  had  fallen  into  great  disrepair.  This  was  a 
time  of  great  interest  for  me,  and  I  used  to  spend  hours 
helping  the  workmen  to  gather  up  the  thousands  of 
human  skulls  that  paved  the  church  to  a  good  depth. 
There  were  tombs  laid  bare  of  many  celebrated  people 
of  the  long  ago,  and  these  had  to  be  identified,  and 
carefully  kept  intact,  until  finally  given  a  safer  resting- 
place. 


24  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

William  Chambers  had  been  offered  a  baronetcy 
some  years  previously,  but  he  refused  it.  He  told  me 
he  did  not  consider  it  a  dignified  thing  for  a  man  of 
letters  to  bear  any  other  honor  than  that  accorded 
to  brain  power  by  a  benefited  world.  He  and  his 
brother  Robert  were  the  pioneers  of  cheap  and  good 
educational  literature  for  the  laboring  man,  and  the 
avidity  with  which  this  literature,  "  Chambers'  In- 
formation for  the  People,"  was  consumed,  appeared 
to  be  a  fitting  reward.  In  those  days  it  was  an  un- 
heard-of thing  for  a  publisher  to  be  honored  by  a  title. 
Now,  however,  on  the  eve  of  the  re-opening  of  St. 
Giles'  Cathedral,  Her  Majesty,  Queen  Victoria,  com- 
manded William  Chambers  to  accept  a  baronetcy. 
The  old  couple  were  much  agitated,  but  had  to  submit, 
and  the  Queen  announced  her  intention  of  performing 
the  opening  ceremony. 

When  the  day  arrived  William  Chambers  lay  dead 
in  his  house,  and  my  father  and  I  took  the  place  of 
the  old  couple.  The  Queen  was  indisposed,  and  Lord 
Aberdeen  took  her  place. 

After  the  ceremony  both  Lord  Aberdeen  and  Lord 
Rosebery  urged  upon  my  father  to  take  up  the  baron- 
etcy, more  especially  as  he  was  his  uncle's  heir,  but 
this  he  utterly  refused  to  do. 

Old  Lady  Chambers,  the  widow,  discarded  her  title 
immediately  and  remained  Mrs.  Chambers  till  the  day 
of  her  death. 

It  must  have  been  at  least  a  month  after  William 
Chambers'  death  that  he  visited  me  in  a  very  vivid 
dream.  I  dreamed  that  he  was  standing  beside  my 
bed,  and  suddenly  he  bent  over  me  and  whispered  in 
my  ear,  "  I've  left  you  all  my  money."  On  waking 
I  had  totally  forgotten  the  dream,  but  later  in  the  day 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL     25 

an  old  servant  of  ours  said  to  me,  "  I  saw  the  wraith 
of  your  Uncle  William  last  night,  but  he  had  nothing 
to  say  to  me." 

Then  my  dream  flashed  back  to  me.  A  day  or  two 
afterwards  I  said  suddenly  to  the  old  family  lawyer, 
"  Was  there  ever  a  question  of  Uncle  William  leaving 
his  money  to  me?  " 

The  dry  answer  was,  "  Yes !  at  one  time  there  was 
a  question  of  that."  I  could  never  extract  anything 
further  from  him  on  the  subject. 

Though  now  possessed  of  considerable  wealth  my 
father  made  no  difference  in  his  mode  of  life,  and  he 
continued  to  work  just  as  hard  as  ever,  and  to  give 
away  large  sums  of  money.  He  never  wanted  any- 
thing for  himself,  but  was  always  ready  to  give  to 
others.  He  had  a  great  love  of  precious  stones,  and 
always  carried  about  little  packets  of  diamonds,  which 
looked  like  packets  of  chemists'  powders.  Had  I  de- 
sired I  could  have  loaded  myself  with  jewels.  He 
never  denied  me  anything  and  we  continued  our  close 
companionship,  the  only  difference  now  being  we  took 
some  holidays  in  the  form  of  afternoons  off. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  we  saw  our  second  ghost. 

We  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  very  old  woman,  whose 
name  I  cannot  remember.  She  lived  alone  with  one 
servant  in  an  ancient  dwelling  in  Inveresk.  The  house 
was  a  large  one,  and  was  enclosed  by  very  high  walls, 
which  entirely  isolated  it  from  the  busy  streets  that 
surrounded  it.  The  original  old  garden  remained,  in 
all  its  beauty,  and  the  rooms  were  full  of  quaint  heir- 
looms. 

We  were  always  made  very  welcome,  and  the  servant 
at  once  produced  a  delicious  tea,  consisting  of  fresh 
baked  scones,  butter  made  of  real  cream  —  margarine 


26  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

being  not  then  invented  —  home-made  strawberry  jam, 
and  home-laid  eggs.  Russian  eggs  were  not  then  im- 
ported. 

I  must  here  interpose  that  deliciously  innocent  tele- 
gram sent  by  an  Aberdeen  merchant  in  the  first  days 
of  the  Great  War,  and  which  set  all  England  and  Scot- 
land mad  to  see  the  fur  and  snow-clad  Russian  troops 
passing  through  to  the  Front.  The  telegram  ran  as 
follows :  — 

"  Twenty  thousand  Russians  arrived." 

The  twenty  thousand  Muscovites  were  only  twenty 
thousand  stale  eggs,  but  Lord  Kitchener's  order  was, 
"  Let  it  stand." 

To  return  to  my  story. 

One  glorious  late  spring  evening  we  were  seated 
at  tea,  and  the  window  was  thrown  wide  to  the  per- 
fumed garden,  where  lilacs,  and  wallflowers,  and  lilies 
of  the  valley  rioted  gloriously.  The  birds  were  in  full 
song  in  this  peaceful  sanctuary,  which  might  have 
been  a  hundred  miles  away  from  a  town.  My  father 
had  put  his  invariable  question  to  the  old  woman, 
"  Have  you  seen  her  again  ?  "  Sometimes  the  answer 
was  Yes,  sometimes  No.  I  gathered  that  this  question 
referred  to  the  old  woman's  dead  daughter,  her  only 
child.  This  daughter  had  been  violently  insane  for 
many  years  and  had  remained  under  her  mother's 
protection.  She  had  died  some  years  previously,  at 
the  age  of  fifty-five,  having  endured  a  terribly  long 
martyrdom. 

Suddenly  my  father  broke  off  the  conversation. 

"My  God!  there  she  is!"  He  half  rose  from  his 
chair  and  stared  through  the  open  window.  I  looked 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL    27 

in  the  same  direction.  A  woman  was  strolling  aim- 
lessly along  the  path  just  outside.  There  was  a  curious 
uncertainty  about  her  movements.  She  walked  like 
a  blind  person,  who  has  neither  stick  nor  arm  to  guide 
her.  Strangely  enough  I  never  thought  of  connecting 
this  woman  with  the  ghost  of  the  mad  daughter.  She 
looked  so  natural,  so  commonplace.  Her  hollow  face 
was  quite  gray,  and  her  dark  hair  was  drawn  tightly 
back  from  it,  and  rolled  in  an  ugly  knob  behind.  Her 
dress  was  of  some  dark  material,  her  boots  were  of 
cloth,  and  her  hands  and  arms  were  rolled  up  in  a 
stuff  apron  she  wore. 

There  she  was,  vacantly  wandering  in  the  garden, 
in  the  lovely  spring  evening,  with  the  blackbirds  and 
thrushes  singing  their  hearts  out  all  around  her,  and 
I  did  not  comprehend  why  such  an  ordinary,  un- 
attractive looking  person  should  so  deeply  interest  my 
father. 

I  turned  round  to  say  something  to  the  old  woman, 
then  I  instantly  understood.  She  had  gone  down  on 
her  knees,  and  had  hidden  herself  by  throwing  the  end 
of  the  tablecloth  over  her  head. 

Then  I  turned  my  eyes  back  to  the  apparition.  I 
don't  suppose  she  was  visible  for  more  than  four 
minutes.  I  remember  my  father  uttering  consoling 
words  to  the  effect  that  "  she's  gone,"  and  helping  the 
old  woman  into  her  chair  again,  when  we  resumed 
our  tea  and  conversation,  as  if  nothing  unusual  had 
occurred. 

Looking  back  upon  these  incidents  I  contrast  the 
infinite  trouble  we  took  in  our  hunt  for  ghosts,  with 
present-day  psychical  research.  I  think  of  the  in- 
numerable half  hours  we  spent  at  Broughton  Hall, 
and  only  once  were  we  rewarded  by  seeing  anything. 


28  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

We  visited  the  old  woman  at  Inveresk  whenever  we 
found  time.  There  was  nothing  in  the  least  inspiring 
or  interesting  in  her  conversation,  yet  to  us  there  was 
an  unspeakable  charm  about  her  outward  circum- 
stances. 

There  was  the  spiritual  charm  of  the  silent  old 
house,  with  its  vibrating  memories  of  the  long  de- 
parted. The  charm  of  the  cloistered  peace,  amidst 
which  the  woman  lived  and  dreamed,  shut  away  from 
the  world  by  the  high  walls.  It  was  a  retreat  in  which 
to  meditate,  and  that  always  appealed  to  me.  A 
dwelling  with  a  beautiful  view  has  a  great  charm,  but 
it  draws  the  thoughts  always  outward  to  the  external. 
Still,  when  I  pass  a  quiet  old  homestead,  hidden  away 
in  its  own  flowery  old  garden  from  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  it  attracts  me  far  more  than  the  far-flung 
grandeur  of  many  a  stately  English  mansion. 

Only  in  such  retreats  of  ancient  peace  can  the 
thoughts  be  turned  continuously  inward,  to  their  true 
bourne  —  the  temple  of  the  living  God. 

I  seem  to  have  been  born  with  an  ingrained  belief 
in  the  enormous  virtue  of  renunciation.  Self-sacrifice, 
I  am  certain,  is  the  foundation  stone  upon  which  is 
built  the  moral  progress  of  man.  I  had  occasion  to 
prove  this  for  myself  at  a  comparatively  early  age. 
My  mother  suddenly  became  much  more  ailing  than 
usual,  and  began  to  suffer  a  great  deal  of  pain.  A 
consultation  of  doctors  was  called  by  our  own  family 
physician,  and  two  of  the  greatest  surgeons  in  Edin- 
burgh arrived  one  morning  at  our  house. 

After  about  an  hour  they  came  into  the  room  in 
which  I  awaited  them.  Their  faces  were  very  grave. 
They  informed  me,  as  kindly  as  they  could,  that  they 
had  arrived  at  the  unanimous  opinion  that  my  mother 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL     29 

was  suffering  from  internal  cancer,  and  that  she  might 
possibly  live  another  six  months.  Our  own  doctor 
confessed  that  he  had  long  suspected  this,  and  the  two 
surgeons  corroborated  his  opinion.  There  was  no 
doubt  in  their  minds,  as  the  disease  had  openly  declared 
itself. 

I  took  this  shock  in  perfect  silence  for  a  minute  or 
two,  then  I  decided  upon  my  first  course  of  action.  I 
asked  them  in  the  meanwhile  to  keep  this  matter  secret 
from  every  one,  even  from  my  father. 

To  this  they  rather  demurred,  saying  that  it  was 
only  right  that  he  should  know  the  truth,  and  that  he 
would  certainly  question  them.  I  then  urged  that  our 
family  doctor  had  known  of  this,  and  had  hidden  his 
knowledge  up  to  to-day.  It  would  be  easy  enough  for 
him  to  go  on  hiding  the  truth  for  a  short  time  longer. 

The  doctors  sought  to  know  my  reason  for  this 
secrecy;  it  would  do  no  good,  the  truth  would  have 
to  come  out.  I  could  give  no  reason.  I  had  no  reason, 
only  a  very  strong  instinct,  and  I  wanted  time.  I 
asked  for  a  fortnight,  after  which  I  would  myself 
inform  my  father  of  the  nature  of  my  mother's  malady. 

They  agreed  to  this,  doubtless  much  relieved  that 
so  unpleasant  a  task  was  removed  to  other  shoulders, 
and  they  went  away. 

That  night  I  did  not  sleep.  I  had  too  much  to 
think  out.  My  mother  must  not  die.  I  had  to  form 
some  plan  to  save  her,  if  it  were  humanly  possible. 
She  was  absolutely  necessary,  I  considered,  to  the 
younger  children.  She  would  be  required  for  some 
years  yet.  My  life  was  wholly  given  up  to  my  father, 
I  had  become  necessary  to  him,  and  this  left  me  no 
time  to  mother  the  young  ones.  His  health  was  not 
of  the  best.  A  curious  tendency  to  hemorrhage  kept 


30  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

him  constantly  weak.  If  he  had  a  tooth  drawn  bleed- 
ing would  continue  for  days  after.  He  needed  all 
my  attention. 

At  that  particular  time  I  possessed  something  — 
never  mind  what  —  that  meant  more  to  me  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  whole  wide  world.  It  was  the 
greatest  thing  I  had  in  life.  I  decided  before  morning 
that  with  this,  my  one  great  possession,  I  would  strike 
a  bargain  with  the  Almighty.  I  would  give  Him  a 
fortnight  to  consider  it.  I  would  offer  Him  the 
greatest  thing  in  my  life  in  exchange  for  my  mother's 
life. 

Quite  conceivably  He  might  refuse  to  consider  the 
proposition,  in  which  case  I  stood  to  lose  everything. 
I  could  never  again  recover  what  I  proposed  to  risk, 
but  I  came  to  the  deliberate  conclusion  that  it  was 
worth  it.  The  case  demanded  a  desperate  remedy. 

Having  made  up  my  mind,  I  went  about  the  busi- 
ness in  the  crudest  and  most  practical  manner.  I  set 
aside  certain  odd  half  hours  during  the  coming  fort- 
night, in  which  I  would  state  my  case.  I  wanted  God 
to  have  every  opportunity  of  considering  my  sugges- 
tion on  its  simple  merits. 

I  began  by  pointing  out  to  Him  why  it  was  so  neces- 
sary that  my  mother  should  live,  and  then  I  went  on 
to  say  that  He  might  be  sure  I  asked  nothing  for  my- 
self. I  proposed  to  give  in  exchange  for  my  mother's 
life  the  greatest  thing  I  possessed  on  earth,  a  thing  that 
doubtless  was  of  little  interest  to  Him,  but  neverthe- 
less meant  a  very  great  deal  to  me  —  in  fact,  my  all. 
I  really  had  nothing  else  of  any  value  to  offer. 

Now,  in  thus  addressing'  the  Almighty,  I  was  not 
acting  as  a  primitive  savage,  for  I  had  considered  the 
subject  of  Deity  for  several  years,  and  had  studied 


THE  GHOST  OF  BROUGHTON  HALL    31 

most  of  the  great  theologians.  I  addressed  Him  thus 
as  a  Spirit  of  too  supreme  a  potency,  of  too  extraneous 
a  mentality  and  majesty,  to  be  addressed  in  any  other 
terms  but  plain  downright  reasoning.  Elaborate  and 
propitiatory  words  were  good  enough  for  earthly 
princelets,  but  ridiculous  when  offered  up  to  the  Su- 
preme Creative  Power.  That  was  my  way  of  looking 
at  it,  and  I  began  at  once  to  carry  out  my  plan.  There 
was  no  time  to  lose.  Meanwhile,  no  living  soul,  save 
the  doctors,  knew  of  my  secret. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  day  my  mother  was  free 
from  pain.  At  the  end  of  the  first  week  she  was 
recovering  rapidly.  The  family  doctor  was  intensely 
puzzled,  but  still  adhered  to  his  original  conviction. 
On  the  eighth  day  I  ceased  my  half-hourly  reasoning 
with  God.  I  merely  thanked  Him  for  concluding  the 
bargain.  He  had  accepted  my  sacrifice,  the  greatest 
I  could  make,  and  there  that  matter  ended.  I  felt, 
without  the  smallest  irreverence,  that  we  were  quits. 

At  the  end  of  the  month  the  two  great  surgeons 
returned,  at  our  own  doctor's  request.  I  awaited  them 
with  perfect  assurance  and  tranquillity.  When  they 
came  in  to  me  they  still  looked  perturbed.  They  told 
me  that  they  had  examined  my  mother,  and  found  all 
traces  of  the  malady  had  disappeared.  They  could 
not  account  for  it,  they  reiterated  their  former  diagno- 
sis, dwelling  upon  certain  facts,  in  very  natural  self- 
justification.  They  expressed,  in  the  very  kindest 
manner,  their  deep  regret  for  all  the  suffering  and 
anxiety  they  must  have  caused  me,  and  said  how  very 
lucky  it  was  that  no  one  had  been  made  aware  of  their 
original  convictions,  save  myself.  The  case  was  ex- 
traordinary, abnormal,  there  was  nothing  more  to  say. 
Then  they  went  away  for  the  last  time. 


32  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

My  father  was  greatly  puzzled  at  their  refusing  to 
accept  any  fee,  and  to  the  day  of  his  death  our  own 
doctor,  whenever  he  found  me  alone,  referred  to  the 
case  as  the  most  marvelous  he  had  ever  come  across. 
My  mother  quite  regained  her  health,  and  died  many 
years  after  from  lung  trouble. 

One  other  great  sacrifice  I  had  to  make  a  year  or 
two  after.  My  father  was  entirely  confined  to  bed 
with  a  severe  attack  of  internal  hemorrhage,  and  at 
the  same  time  my  youngest  sister  was  threatened  with 
consumption.  She  was  ordered  to  go  to  the  South  of 
France  immediately. 

It  was  decided  that  I  must  go  with  her,  as  she  could 
not  be  trusted  to  strangers.  My  mother,  absolutely 
restored  to  health,  would  be  left  with  my  father,  who 
had  also  a  good  nurse  valet. 

My  father  and  I  bade  each  other  farewell  one  early 
morning  in  February,  1888.  We  knew  we  would  not 
meet  again  on  earth. 

Only  one  other  curious  incident  do  I  remember  in 
connection  with  that  town  house  we  lived  in.  On  the 
night  of  the  28th  December  we  were  all  assembled  in 
the  library,  most  of  us  were  reading,  and  a  violent 
wind  storm  was  howling  round  the  house.  Suddenly 
my  father  laid  down  the  proof  sheets  he  was  correcting, 
and  took  out  his  watch.  Then  he  turned  to  us  and 
said :  "  At  this  moment,  seven  fifteen,  on  Sunday  the 
28th  of  December,  1879,  something  terrible  has  hap- 
pened. I  think  a  bridge  must  be  down." 

The  next  day  we  learned  that  the  Tay  Bridge  had 
been  blown  down  at  that  very  hour,  and  the  train  and 
its  occupants  hurled  to  death  in  the  waters  below. 


CHAPTER  III 

CURIOUS   PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES 

AFTER  my  father's  death  I  began  to  live  a  much 
more  independent  life.  I  was  financially  in- 
dependent, and  I  proceeded  to  London,  where 
I  felt  I  would  have  a  wider  range  of  intellectual  com- 
panionship. I  lived  in  hotels  and  dispensed  with  all 
chaperonage,  thus  leaving  myself  free  to  join  my 
mother  on  the  Riviera  in  the  early  spring  months. 

I  never  cared  for  dancing,  and  always  having  had 
the  companionship  of  people  who  were  years  older  than 
myself,  I  had  made  few  girl  friends.  My  first  cousin, 
Lady  Campbell,  wife  of  Sir  Guy  Campbell,  Bart., 
6oth  Rifles,  and  another  first  cousin,  Menie  Muriel 
Dowie,  were  the  only  two  I  really  saw  much  of. 

Lady  Campbell  was,  and  is,  a  very  attractive  wo- 
man, possessed  of  great  charm  of  manner.  Exceed- 
ingly cultured  and  intelligent,  she  is  also  an  artist  to 
her  finger  tips.  As  girls  we  used  to  be  fond  of  attend- 
ing Queen  Victoria's  Drawing-rooms.  A  bevy  of  us 
would  take  lunch  with  us  in  the  carriages,  and  thor- 
oughly enjoy  our  day  out.  I  was  the  last  woman  to 
kiss  the  hand  of  Queen  Victoria  at  a  Drawing-room. 
I  was  stopped  by  a  Court  official  just  as  I  was  moving 
forward,  and  told  to  wait  as  "  Her  Majesty  is  going 
to  withdraw."  The  present  Dowager  Queen  Alexan- 
dra, as  Princess  of  Wales,  then  took  her  place.  On 

33 


34  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

this  occasion  I  heard  the  Queen  say,  "  Let  this  lady 
pass."  I  was  then  told  to  proceed. 

Being  very  tall  I  had  always  a  certain  difficulty 
in  getting  down  low  enough  to  kiss  the  tiny  Queen's 
hand.  After  I  had  passed,  and  as  I  backed  out  of 
"  the  presence,"  I  saw  Her  Majesty  being  assisted  out 
of  the  queer  little  half  chair,  half  stool  she  used.  She 
never  held  another  Drawing-room,  and  I  regret  that, 
being  abroad,  I  had  not  the  honor  of  making  a  last 
curtsy  to  the  little  coffin  as  it  passed  through  the 
streets  of  London. 

Menie  Muriel  Dowie  was  a  brilliant  bohemian,  as 
can  be  gathered  by  those  who  have  read  her  book, 
"  A  Girl  in  the  Carpathians."  I  have  never  known 
any  wroman  who  was  possessed  of  so  many  natural 
talents.  She  is  as  much  at  home  in  skilled  and 
polished  diplomacy  as  in  practical  agriculture.  She 
has  always  been  a  great  traveler,  yet  a  delicate  woman. 
Only  her  indomitable  spirit  kept  her  going  in  her  youth, 
as  it  still  does  in  her  beautiful  house  in  Green  Street, 
and  her  model  farm  in  Gloucestershire. 

My  greatest  older  friends  were  Mrs.  Lynn  Linton, 
the  novelist,  Browning,  the  poet,  Lord  Leighton,  the 
painter,  and  Mrs.  Proctor,  .widow  of  Barry  Cornwall, 
and  mother  of  Adelaide  Proctor,  the  poet.  All  people 
old  enough  to  be  my  parents. 

I  had  a  great  admiration  for  Mrs.  Lynn  Linton's 
strong,  cold  intellect;  it  was  so  invigorating,  and  she 
was  so  self-reliant,  an  uncommon  thing  for  a  woman 
to  be  in  those  days.  We  had  long  arguments  over 
matters  occult,  but  I  never  could  make  the  least  im- 
pression upon  her  strong  materialism.  "  I  won't 
leave  this  earth  even  with  you,"  she  used  to  protest. 
She  was  a  great  friend  and  admirer  of  my  aunt,  Lady 


CURIOUS  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES    35 

Priestley,  also  a  woman  of  very  fine  intellect,  who 
devoted  herself  to  scientific  pursuits.  Had  she  been 
a  man,  or  had  she  lived  in  the  present  day,  when 
woman  has  at  last  come  into  her  own,  she  would  have 
made  a  very  strong  mark. 

Robert  Browning,  whom  I  had  known  for  some 
years,  used  to  drop  in  very  often  to  have  a  chat,  and 
I  rejoiced  in  him  exceedingly  as  a  born  mystic  of  a 
high  order.  We  often  discussed  the  possibility  of  his 
work  being  directed  from  the  other  side,  and  we  argued 
as  to  whether  he  received  inspiration  from  various 
quarters,  or  whether  he  was  the  beloved  of  some  poet 
of  a  former  age,  who,  active  still  in  the  spirit  world, 
expressed  his  great  thoughts  through  Robert  Browning 
on  earth.  So  many  people  at  that  time  frankly  said 
they  could  not  understand  Browning's  poetry,  and 
this  I  told  him  was  to  be  attributed  to  lack  of  the  mystic 
perception.  Now  that  mysticism  has  so  enormously 
developed,  his  work  is  much  more  comprehensive  to 
the  world. 

I  had  alas !  only  one  year  of  really  close  friendship 
with  him,  for  he  died  the  year  after  I  came  to  London. 

One  curious  thing  Browning  told  me. 

He  dropped  in  one  night  to  see  me,  after  dinner  at 
a  house  where  Millais,  the  painter,  had  been  one  of 
the  guests. 

"Johnnie  Millais  told  me  an  odd  thing  to-night," 
he  said.  "  He's  constantly  seeing  figures  appearing 
and  disappearing  on  the  face  of  the  canvas  he's  work- 
ing upon." 

"  What  sort  of  figures?  "  I  asked. 

Browning  shot  out  his  cuff. 

"  Here  they  are.  I  knew  you'd  be  interested,  so 
I  took  them  down  for  you.  Better  write  them  down 


36  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

for  yourself,  but  don't  mention  the  subject  to  him  or 
any  of  his  family." 

I  fetched  a  piece  of  paper  and  copied  from  Brown- 
ing's cuff. 

"  13.  1.8.9.6.  The  figures  don't  always  come  in 
that  order,"  he  said,  "  but  more  often  than  not  they 
do.  The  13  always  comes  up  as  13,  but  he's  seen 
9.6.1.8.  What  do  you  make  of  it?" 

"  At  present  nothing,  but  the  future  may  throw 
light  upon  the  phenomenon,"  I  answered. 

I  never  mentioned  this  occurrence  to  any  one,  and, 
indeed,  forgot  all  about  it  till  some  years  after  Millais' 
death,  when  I  came  upon  my  notes  in  an  old  box.  I 
then  realized  that  the  great  painter  had  been  looking 
upon  the  dates  of  his  own  death.  He  died  on  August 
1 3th,  1896. 

One  night  some  one,  I  have  not  the  least  idea  who, 
came  to  me  in  my  sleep  and  bade  me  take  up  pencil 
and  paper,  and  write  to  dictation.  Still  sound  asleep 
I  did  as  I  was  bidden.  I  always  kept  writing  materials 
by  my  bedside. 

In  the  morning  I  remembered  nothing  of  this  till 
my  eye  fell  upon  some  sheets  of  paper.  The  writing 
upon  them  was  mine,  but  very  big  and  untidy.  Then 
I  recollected  the  command  I  had  received  in  the  night 
and  eagerly  read  what  I  had  written.  Here  it  is. 
I  gave  Browning  a  copy  as  he  was  so  deeply  inter- 
ested — 

"A  solitary  cottage  stood  on  the  edge  of  a 
bleak  moorland.  The  sun  sank  behind  the  low 
horizon,  and  left  marshy  pools  glowing  like  living 
opals.  A  stream  of  homeward  flying  rooks  made 
a  streak  of  indigo  across  the  topaz  sky  where 


CURIOUS  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES     37 

gauzy  wind-riven  clouds  floated  westward.  The 
sacred  hush  of  eventide  brooded  under  the  calm 
wings  of  night. 

"  Out  on  the  waste  wandered  the  Angel  of 
'  Sleep,'  and  the  Angel  of  '  Death '  with  arms 
fraternally  entwined,  and  whilst  the  brotherly 
genii  embraced  each  other,  night  stole  down 
with  velvet  footfall,  and  the  green  stars  peered 
forth. 

"  Then  the  Angel  of  Sleep  shook  from  out  his 
hands  the  invisible  grains  of  slumber,  and  bade 
the  night  wind  waft  them  o'er  the  world.  And 
soon  the  child  in  its  cradle,  the  tired  mother,  the 
aged  man,  and  the  pain-laden  woman  were  at 
peace.  The  curfew  tolled  out  from  the  distant 
hamlet  and  then  was  still. 

"  Inside  the  cottage  a  rushlight  burned  faintly, 
indicating  the  poverty  of  the  room,  and  illumi- 
nating the  death-like  features  of  the  boy  who  lay 
on  the  bed.  By  his  side,  worn  out,  sat  the  father, 
his  horny  hand  clasped  in  that  of  his  child. 

"  And  the  two  brother  Angels  advanced,  hand 
in  hand,  and  peered  in  at  the  window,  and  the 
Angel  of  Sleep  said :  '  Behold  how  gracious  a 
thing  it  is,  that  we  can  visit  this  humble  dwelling 
and  scatter  grains  of  slumber  around,  and  send 
oblivion  to  the  weary  watcher.  I  am  beloved  and 
courted  by  all.  How  merciful  is  our  vocation.' 
And  silently  he  entered  the  room. 

"  He  kissed  the  eyelids  of  the  weary  watcher, 
.  and  as  he  did  so  some  grains  fell  from  out  the 
wreath  of  scarlet  poppies  that  lay  like  drops  of 
blood  upon  his  brow. 

"  But   the   Angel  of   Death   sat   without,   his 


38  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

pallid  face  shrouded  in  the  sable  of  his  wings. 

"  And  he  spake  to  the  Angel  of  Sleep,  '  Of 
a  truth  thou  art  happy  and  beloved.  The  welcome 
guest  of  all,  whereas  I  am  shunned,  the  door  is 
barred  as  against  a  secret  foe,  and  I  am  counted 
the  enemy  of  the  world.' 

"  But  the  Angel  of  Sleep  wiped  away  the  im- 
mortal tears  from  the  dark  and  mournful  eyes  of 
his  brother  Death. 

"  '  Are  we  not  children  born  of  the  one  Fa- 
ther ? '  said  he,  '  and  do  not  the  good  call  thee 
friend,  and  the  lonely,  the  homeless,  the  weary 
laden  bless  thy  hallowed  name  when  they  wake 
in  Paradise.' 

"  And  the  Angel  of  Death  unfurled  his  sable 
wings  and  took  heart.  And  as  Lucifer  the  light- 
bringer  paled  in  the  violet  Heavens  he  silently 
entered  the  dwelling.  With  his  golden  scythe 
he  cut  the  silver  cord  of  life,  and  gathered  the 
child  to  his  faithful  bosom." 

The  evenings  I  most  enjoyed  were  those  I  spent  in 
the  studio  of  Felix  Moscheles,  the  great  apostle  of 
peace.  There  one  met  all  the  genius  and  talent  in  Lon- 
don, and  any  genius  of  foreign  nationality  who  hap- 
pened to  be  visiting  England.  The  cosmopolitan  ele- 
ment always  attracted  me,  and  I  went  to  several  frankly 
revolutionary  houses,  where  red  ties  flaunted,  and 
where  those  Russian  Nihilists  found  a  welcome  who 
were  constantly  rushing  over  here  to  escape  Siberia. 
Through  them  I  learned  to  understand  what  the  real 
woes  of  Russia  were,  and  to  expect  the  present  revolu- 
tion as  the  inevitable  result  of  brutal  repression  and 
misgovernment. 


CURIOUS  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES    39 

During  one  winter  at  Nice  I  renewed  my  acquain- 
tance with  one  of  the  most  remarkable  mystics  of  mod- 
ern times,  Marie,  Countess  of  Caithness  and  Duchesse 
de  Pomar. 

I  had  first  met  her  in  Edinburgh  in  1872  when  she 
was  on  the  eve  of  her  second  marriage  with  Lord 
Caithness.  My  father  and  mother  attended  her  very 
quiet  wedding.  Now  we  met  again  many  years  after 
at  her  beautiful  home,  the  Palais  Tiranty,  Nice. 
Lady  Caithness  was  widowed  for  the  second  time,  Lord 
Caithness  having  died  in  1881,  and  lived  alone  with 
her  devoted  son,  the  Due  de  Pomar.  She  had  a 
magnificent  home  in  Paris,  "  Holyrood,"  Avenue 
Wagram.  This  house  contained  a  large  lecture  hall 
filled  with  gilt  chairs,  and  hung  round  with  fine  pic- 
tures. Leading  from  this  hall  down  a  flight  of  marble 
stairs  one  came  to  a  chapel  or  seance  room,  used  for 
direct  communication  with  the  spirit  of  Mary  Stuart, 
and  said  to  have  been  built  "  under  the  Queen's  in- 
structions." 

This  presupposes  Queen  Mary  to  be  still  on  "  the 
other  side."  Other  occultists  maintain  that  she  has 
reincarnated  again  in  the  person  of  a  very  old  Em- 
press, who  still  lives  on  earth. 

It  has  been  often  said  of  Lady  Caithness  that  she 
believed  herself  to  be  the  reincarnation  of  Mary 
Stuart.  During  all  the  years  I  knew  her  intimately  I 
never  heard  her  even  hint  at  such  a  belief,  and  the 
fact  that  she  believed  herself  to  be  in  touch  with  the 
Queen  on  "  the  other  side  "  precludes  in  my  opinion 
the  possibility  of  her  having  formed  such  a  concep- 
tion. 

What  may  have  given  rise  to  the  suggestion  was  the 
fact  that  she  dressed  after  the  fashion  of  the  Scottish 


40  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Queen,  and  was  surrounded  by  "  Mary  relics."  Also, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  she  had  a  deeply  sympathetic 
interest  in  the  unfortunate  Queen,  and  had  elevated 
her  memory  into  what  amounted  almost  to  a  religion. 
In  the  chapel  there  is  a  full  length  lovely  portrait  of 
Mary,  which  is  so  lighted  and  arranged  that  it  gives 
the  impression  of  a  living  woman.  Leading  out  of  the 
dining-room  was  the  bedroom  of  Lady  Caithness,  a 
sumptuous  apartment.  The  bed  was  a  state  bed, 
plumes  of  ostrich  feathers  uprose  at  each  corner.  At 
one  end  was  a  crown,  and  behind  the  pillows  was  a 
fresco  painting  representing  Jacob's  Ladder,  with  a 
multitude  of  angels  ascending  and  descending.  Often 
Lady  Caithness  received  in  bed,  as  was  the  habit  of  the 
French  Queens  of  former  days. 

The  jewels  possessed  by  Lady  Caithness  were  the 
most  gorgeous  I  have  ever  seen.  Nothing  worn  by 
crowned  heads,  at  the  many  English  Courts  I  have 
attended,  were  comparable  to  them.  I  can  remember 
an  Edinburgh  jeweler  inviting  my  father  and  me  to 
inspect  some  diamonds  belonging  to  her  that  he  was 
cleaning.  There  was  a  long  chain  of  huge  diamonds 
reaching  to  the  knees,  with  a  cross  attached,  which 
no  casual  observer,  not  possessing  the  jeweler's  guar- 
antee as  we  did,  would  have  believed  to  be  genuine. 
When  standing  receiving  her  guests  in  the  beautiful 
salons  of  the  Palais  Tiranty,  clad  in  crimson  velvet, 
she  looked  a  very  wonderful  figure,  for  she  possessed 
exceptional  personal  beauty  as  well. 

As  may  be  supposed,  a  woman  of  such  commanding 
presence  who  was  known  to  possess  a  deep  interest 
in  the  occult,  could  secure  the  services  of  the  best 
mediums  the  world  over.  I  sat  with  her  through 
many  seances,  successful,  barren,  and  indifferent, 


CURIOUS  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES     41 

conducted  by  mediums  of  various  nationalities.  I 
remember  one  conducted  by  a  South  American  me- 
dium, where  the  "  controls  "  became  very  noisy  and 
troublesome,  and  threatened  to  do  serious  damage. 
The  medium  could  not  be  roused  out  of  the  trance 
she  had  fallen  into,  and  it  had  really  become  necessary 
to  put  an  end  to  the  performance.  She  was  a  very 
big,  heavy  woman,  and  had  sunk  half  off  her  chair  on 
to  the  floor.  I  suggested  to  Lady  Caithness  that  if 
we  could  drag  or  carry  her  into  another  room  mat- 
ters might  then  quiet  down,  but  I  added  dubiously, 
"  She  must  be  a  great  weight." 

Lady  Caithness  replied  with  a  smile :  "  Try.  You'll 
probably  find  her  very  light  indeed." 

I  did  try,  and  this  was  the  only  time  in  my  life 
that  I  had  the  opportunity  of  proving  to  myself  how 
tremendously  a  medium  loses  weight  whilst  genuine 
manifestations  are  in  progress.  I  found  it  quite  easy 
to  lift  this  woman,  who  in  ordinary  circumstances 
must  have  weighed  at  least  twelve  or  thirteen  stone. 

Sir  William  Crookes  has  given  to  the  world  a  very 
interesting  account  of  his  work  in  weighing  mediums, 
before  and  during  materialization.  He  always  found 
that  a  great  decrease  in  weight  took  place  during  the 
materializations,  proving  how  enormous  is  the  drain 
on  the  strength  of  the  medium.  Such  evidence  is 
most  valuable,  as  coming  from  our  greatest  chemist. 

On  this  particular  night  I  had  no  doubt  as  to  the 
genuineness  of  the  medium.  Had  she  been  a  fraud 
she  would  have  stopped  the  seance  at  once,  on  seeing 
how  annoyed  Lady  Caithness  was.  She  had  every 
reason  to  conciliate  her,  and  was  greatly  distressed 
to  hear  that  her  services  would  no  longer  be  required. 
The  troublesome  spirits  followed  her  into  the  next 


42  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

room,  but  gradually  subsided  as  we  succeeded  in  bring- 
ing the  woman  back  out  of  her  trance. 

I  used  to  go  very  often  to  the  theater  at  Nice  with 
Lady  Caithness.  She  had  her  own  box,  and  often 
invited  Don  Carlos  of  Spain,  and  other  distinguished 
personages,  to  accompany  her.  One  night  we  went 
to  hear  the  incomparable  Judic.  We  were  only  a 
party  of  three,  the  third  being  Prince  Valori. 

The  Prince  was  then  a  man  past  middle  age.  He 
suggested  a  magnificent  ruin,  retaining  as  he  did  the 
battered  remains  of  great  good  looks,  and  it  was  plain 
to  see  that  his  valet  was  exceedingly  skillful.  He 
possessed  also  a  European  reputation  for  heiress  hunt- 
ing, but  to  the  day  of  his  death  he  never  succeeded 
in  catching  one,  though  it  was  said  he  had  pursued 
his  quarry  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  Perhaps  the 
figure  he  placed  upon  his  ancient  lineage  and  his 
personal  charm  was  too  high;  perhaps  he  had  begun 
his  quest  too  late  in  life,  though  the  position  of  a 
widowed  Princess  Valori  would  certainly  not  have  been 
without  attraction.  I  attributed  his  single  blessedness 
to  quite  a  different  cause. 

That  night,  whilst  my  attention  was  fixed  on  the 
stage,  I  became  dimly  aware  that  some  one  had  entered 
our  box,  but  until  the  song  was  over  I  did  not  turn 
round  to  look  who  it  was.  We  always  had  visitors 
coming  and  going.  When  at  last  I  did  glance  round 
I  saw  nothing  remarkable.  Only  a  man  in  fancy  dress 
seated  behind  Valori,  a  man  whom  I  had  never  seen 
before. 

At  that  period  Nice  went  mad  during  the  winter 
season.  The  most  extravayant  amusements  were  en- 
tered into  with  a  wild  zest,  by  the  very  cosmopolitan 
society  of  extremely  wealthy  people.  There  were 


CURIOUS  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES     43 

fancy  dress  balls  every  night  somewhere,  and  no  one 
thought  it  strange  to  see  bands  of  revelers  in  fancy 
costume  walking  about  the  streets  and  thronging  the 
cafes  at  all  hours  of  the  night. 

I  was  not  therefore  astonished  to  see  this  man  in 
fancy  dress,  leaning  familiarly  over  the  back  of  Prince 
Valori's  chair.  He  was  a  very  thin  man,  with  very 
long,  thin  legs,  and  he  was  dressed  entirely  in  choco- 
late brown  —  a  sort  of  close-fitting  cowl  was  drawn 
over  his  head,  and  his  curious  long,  impish  face  was 
made  more  weird  by  small,  sharply  pointed  ears  rising 
on  each  side  of  his  head.  He  appeared  to  have  "  got 
himself  up  "  to  look  like  a  satyr,  or  some  such  mythical 
monstrosity.  He  was  not  introduced  to  me  at  the 
moment,  and  other  people  entering  our  box  whom  I 
knew,  I  forgot  about  him.  When  the  box  cleared 
before  the  next  act  I  noticed  he  had  gone. 

A  week  or  so  after  this  I  went  to  a  fancy  dress  ball 
given  by  a  Russian  friend  of  mine  —  Princess  Lina 
Galitzine.  There  was  a  great  crowd,  and  a  number 
of  Grand  Dukes  and  Grand  Duchesses,  some  of  whom 
had  driven  long  distances  from  their  villas  and  hotels 
in  Mentone,  Monte  Carlo,  and  Beaulieu,  etc.  I  soon 
saw  Prince  Valori  making  his  way  towards  me,  dressed 
very  magnificently,  in  a  French  costume  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  By  his  side  moved  the  man  in 
brown. 

Now  that  I  saw  "  the  satyr  "  under  brilliant  light 
he  struck  me  at  once  as  something  peculiar.  His  walk 
was  alone  sufficient  to  attract  attention.  He  strutted 
on  tiptoes,  with  a  curious  jerk  with  every  step  he  made. 
Those  who  remember  Henry  Irving's  peculiar  walk 
may  form  some  idea  of  "  the  satyr's "  movements. 
They  were  Irving's  immensely  exaggerated.  I  con- 


44  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

eluded  that  Valori  was  bringing  him  up  to  present 
him  to  me,  but  such  proved  not  to  be  his  intention. 
Valori  shook  hands,  coolly  requested  the  young  Amer- 
ican to  whom  I  was  talking  to  move  off  and  find  some 
one  to  dance  with,  and  seated  himself  in  the  vacated 
chair.  "  The  satyr  "  stood  by  his  side  and  said  noth- 
ing. I  thought  this  very  odd,  and  glancing,  when- 
ever I  could  do  so  unobserved,  at  the  silent  brown 
figure,  I  began  to  feel  uneasy  and  shivery.  It  was 
impossible,  whilst  he  stood  there  listening  to  all  we 
said,  to  ask  Valori  who  he  was,  and  no  mention  was 
made  of  him. 

As  soon  as  I  could  I  escaped  to  talk  to  some  one 
else,  and  for  an  hour  or  two  I  avoided  both.  During 
this  time  I  asked  several  people  who  "  the  satyr " 
was,  but  no  one  seemed  to  have  noticed  him  in  the 
crowd.  At  last,  when  seated  at  supper  with  the  late 
James  Gordon  Bennett,  who  did  not  usually  go  to 
balls,  but  had  looked  in  here  for  half  an  hour  for  some 
purpose  of  his  own,  I  found  myself  seated  next  to  a 
very  charming  Pole,  married  to  a  Russian,  the  Princess 
Schehoffskoi.  I  knew  her  to  be  a  genuine  mystic, 
one  of  the  group  who  first  instituted  spiritualism  into 
the  Russian  Court  circles.  I  seized  •  an  opportunity, 
whilst  Gordon  Bennett  was  occupied  with  some  one 
else,  to  ask  her  who  the  brown  satyr  was  who  had 
attached  himself  to  Valori. 

She  was  at  once  absorbed  in  the  question,  and, 
lowering  her  voice,  she  said,  "  Why,  how  interesting ! 
Don't  you  know  that  is  his  '  Familiar  '  who  is  con- 
stantly in  attendance  upon  him.  People  say  they 
became  attached  whilst  he  was  attending  a  '  Sabbath ' 
in  the  Vosges,  and  he  can't  get  rid  of  it." 

"A  Sabbath!"  I  echoed  blankly. 


CURIOUS  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES    45 

"  Yes !  Surely  you  have  heard  of  a  '  Witch's  Sab- 
bath.' They  still  hold  them  at  Lutzei,  and  each  per- 
son receives  a  *  Familiar.'  Those  *  Sabbaths '  are 
the  most  appalling  orgies  and  hideously  blasphemous. 
The  '  Familiars  '  have  names  —  Minette,  Verdelet,  etc. 
I  had  an  ancestor  who  owned  a  '  Familiar '  called 
Sainte  Buisson.  His  name  was  de  Laski.  Of  course, 
he  was  a  Pole,  and  a  Prince  of  Siradia,  and  he  came 
across  Dr.  Dee,  the  necromancer  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time.  They  seem  to  have  entered  into  a  sort  of  part- 
nership." 

All  this  the  Princess  told  me  quite  seriously,  and 
I  found  out  later  from  her  that  Satanism  or  devil 
worship  was  largely  practiced  in  France.  It  is  in- 
teresting to  note  that  the  names  of  the  French  war 
mascots  of  the  moment  are  all  taken  from  the  names 
of  well-known  "  Familiars  "  in  occult  lore. 

"  Then  the  '  satyr '  attached  to  Valori  is  not  human 
flesh  and  blood ;  how  horrible !  "  I  whispered  back. 
"  Have  many  people  seen  him  ?  Is  he  always 
there?" 

The  Princess  nodded,  "  The  clairvoyantes  here  all 
know  about  it,  and  I  myself  have  seen  him,  not  here, 
but  in  Paris.  I  shall  go  in  search  of  Valori  directly 
after  supper." 

"  And  I  shall  go  home  to  bed,"  I  answered. 

The  next  morning  I  met  Valori,  alone,  on  the  Prome- 
nade des  Anglais.  He  turned  and  strolled  by  my 
side,  and  I  determined  to  put  a  straight  question. 
After  a  little  trivial  conversation  I  said,  "  By  the  way, 
who  is  that  brown  man,  dressed  like  a  Satyr,  who  has 
been  with  you  lately  ?  " 

I  watched  Valori' s  face  as  I  put  the  question,  and 
as  I  saw  the  change  that  can.-; over  it  I  felt  very  sorry 


46  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

and  ashamed  of  having  spoken.     He  looked  so  utterly 
dejected  and  miserable. 

"  You  also  ?  "  he  muttered,  then  fell  to  silence. 

I  gathered  that  the  same  question  had  been  put  to 
him  before,  and  I  hastened  to  reassure  him.  "  Don't 
answer.  My  question  was  impertinent;  let  us  speak 
of  other  things,"  I  said  hastily,  but  he  remained  silent, 
staring  down  at  the  ground.  Then  suddenly  he  said — 

"  I  am  not  the  only  one  in  the  world  so  afflicted." 

I  did  not  pursue  the  subject.  His  words  were  true. 
That  evening  I  received  a  large  bouquet  of  Russian 
violets,  and  on  a  card  was  written  the  following  French 
proverb :  — "  La  reputation  d'un  homme  est  comme 
son  ombre,  qui  tantot  le  suit  et  tantot  le  precede; 
quelquefois  elle  est  plus  longue  et  quelquefois  plus 
courte  que  lui." 

At  that  time  the  whole  Riviera  was  swarming  with 
professional  clairvoyantes,  and  it  soon  "  got  wind " 
that  Prince  Valori's  "  Familiar  "  was  walking  about 
with  him.  He  treated  the  matter  almost  as  lightly  as 
a  distinguished  English  General  treated  his  "  Fa- 
miliar." 

The  Englishman,  General  Elliot,  who  commanded 
the  forces  in  Scotland,  was  a  very  well-known  society 
man,  about  twenty-five  years  ago.  He  had  a  name 
for  his  Familiar,  "  Wononi,"  and  used  actually  to 
speak  aloud  with  him  in  the  middle  of  a  dinner-party. 
The  General  occupied  a  very  distinguished  position, 
not  only  in  his  profession,  but  in  the  social  world,  and 
to  look  at  he  was  the  very  last  man  that  one  would 
associate  with  matters  occult. 

In  1895  Marie,  Duchesse  de  Pomar  and  Countess 
of  Caithness,  died.  She  had  the  right  to  claim  burial 
in  Holyrood  Chapel,  and  a  very  simple  stone  marks 


CURIOUS  PSYCHIC  EXPERIENCES     47 

her  last  resting-place.  To  her  I  owe  the  warmest 
friendship  of  my  life,  for  it  was  in  her  opera  box  I  met 
the  present  Lady  Treowen,  born  a  daughter  of  Lord 
Albert  Conynghame,  who  afterwards  became  the  first 
Lord  Londesborough.  To  the  many  who  know  and 
love  her,  Albertina  Treowen  represents  a  type  of  per- 
fect breeding,  alas!  fast  becoming  extinct  in  these 
days.  She  has  lived  the  reality  of  noblesse  oblige,  has 
the  rare  gift  of  perfect  friendship,  and  combines  a  rare 
refinement  of  mind  with  strong  moral  courage. 


CHAPTER  IV 

EAST  END  DAYS   AND   NIGHTS 

IF  we  had  found  the  golden  thread  of  meaning 
which  gives  coherence  to  the  whole;  if  we  had 
been  taught  as  our  religion  that  every  man  and 
woman  was  receiving  the  strictest  justice  at  the  Di- 
vine hands,  and  that  our  conditions  to-day  were  ex- 
actly those  our  former  lives  entitled  us  to,  how  dif- 
ferent would  be  our  outlook  on  life.  As  it  is,  men 
have  fallen  away  in  their  bitter  discontent  from  a  God 
in  whose  justice  they  have  ceased  to  believe,  and  of 
whose  impartiality  they  see  no  sign. 

I  doubt  if  any  religion  extant  has  claimed  such  a 
wide  diversity  in  its  adherents  as  Christianity.  Calvin, 
Knox,  Torquemada,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
and  Kaiser  Wilhelm.  Mr.  Gladstone,  and  Czar 
Nicolas.  The  Pope  of  Rome,  and  Spurgeon.  Even 
those  nine  names,  which  might  be  multiplied  indefi- 
nitely, show  us  diametrically  opposed  readings  of  the 
same  faith. 

It  would  be  of  enormous  benefit  to  us  if  we  studied 
all  the  great  religions,  and  separated  from  each  the 
obviously  false  from  the  true,  and  appropriated  the 
latter.  The  Bible  would  gain  enormously  in  value  if 
studied  in  conjunction  with  other  sacred  books  written 
before  the  advent  of  Christ. 

A  careful  study  of  the  ancient  faiths  will  reveal  a 
wonderful  similarity.  We  are  beginning  to  break 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS      49 

down  the  limitations  which  have  been  presumptuously 
cast  around  the  conceptions  of  the  Divine  teachings. 
We  begin  to  see  that  not  only  in  Palestine,  but  in  all 
the  world,  and  amongst  all  peoples,  God  has  been  re- 
vealing Himself  to  the  hearts  of  men. 

It  is  always  folly  for  the  orthodox  to  hold  up  hands 
in  holy  horror  at  the  views  of  the  unorthodox.  It  is 
a  selfish  standpoint,  and  makes  matters  no  better. 
Doubt  does  not  spring  from  the  wish  to  doubt.  It 
arises  solely  from  the  play  of  the  mind  on  the  facts  of 
daily  life  surrounding  us.  The  truth  remains,  that, 
unless  the  Church  recovers  those  vital  doctrines  that 
she  has  lost,  and  which  alone  make  life  rational  to  the 
intelligent,  she  will  be  finally  abandoned  when  the 
present  generation  dies  out. 

We  can  never  rest  content  with  a  faith  which  flatly 
contradicts  the  facts  of  life  which  surround  us,  and 
press  in  on  us  from  every  side  in  our  daily  existence. 
We  hold  that  what  we  undoubtedly  find  in  life  ought 
to  have  its  complement  in  religion.  The  searching 
temper  of  our  vast  sacrifices  in  war  are  thrusting  faith 
down  to  primitive  bed-rock.  Orthodoxies  and  hetero- 
doxies will  not  matter  much  now.  What  will  matter 
will  be  honesty,  effectiveness,  and  a  rational  explana- 
tion of  life.  For  nineteen  hundred  years  we  have  pro- 
fessed the  religion  of  what  others  said  about  Christ. 
Now  the  hour  is  approaching  when  we  must  try  the 
religion  of  what  Christ  said  about  us  and  the  world. 

I  was  always  of  a  very  inquiring  turn  of  mind,  and 
I  had  abandoned  orthodoxy  before  I  was  twenty.  I 
had  read  everything  I  could  lay  my  hands  on,  and  I 
emerged  after  a  year  or  two,  an  out-and-out  agnostic, 
in  the  popular  sense  of  the  term. 

I  had,  however,  no  intention  of  remaining  in  that 


50  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

condition.  I  was  convinced  there  must  be  some  link 
between  Science  and  Religion,  and  that  a  just  God, 
worthy  of  all  worship,  was  to  be  found,  if  only  I  knew 
where  to  seek.  I  can  look  back  on  this  crude  stage  of 
my  life,  and  see  what  a  nuisance  I  must  have  been, 
with  my  defiant  disbelief  and  constant  questioning. 
I  became  an  ardent  truth-seeker,  but  my  demands,  I 
can  now  realize,  grew  out  of  my  palpitating  desire  to 
reduce  the  world  of  disorder  to  the  likeness  of  a  su- 
preme and  beneficent  Creator.  If  God  be  just  and 
good,  then  what  is  the  explanation  of  this  hideous 
discrepancy  in  human  lives? 

Following  on  this  came  the  question :  "  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  a  just  God  is  going  to  judge  us,  one  and  all, 
on  our  miserable  record  of  three  score  years  and  ten?  " 

"  Whatsoever  ye  soweth  that  shall  ye  reap."  So 
the  criminal  and  the  savage  were  to  be  judged  by  their 
deeds,  though,  through  no  fault  of  their  own,  they 
were  born  under  circumstances  which  precluded  any 
glimmer  of  light  to  shine  in  on  their  darkness. 
"  Ah !  "  but  I  was  told,  "  God  will  make  it  up  to  them 
hereafter.  Of  course,  He  won't  judge  them  as  He 
will  judge  you." 

This  seemed  to  me  pure  nonsense.  I  could  not 
understand  a  God  who  arranged  His  creation  so 
badly.  Whilst  in  London  I  started  out  on  a  search 
for  truth. 

Amongst  those  who  accorded  me  interviews  were 
Cardinal  Newman  and  the  late  Archdeacon  Liddon. 
The  former  was  exquisitely  sympathetic  and  patient, 
but  he  gave  me  no  mental  satisfaction.  I  helped  him 
for  some  weeks  in  the  great  dock  strike,  and  then  we 
drifted  apart  for  ever.  Liddon  listened  patiently,  then 
told  me  flatly  he  could  not  solve  the  mysteries  I  sought 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS      51 

to  probe.  I  also  was  accorded  an  unsatisfactory  in- 
terview with  Basil  Wilberforce.  After  a  lapse  of 
thirty  years  we  met  again,  though  I  never  recalled  to 
him  the  visit  I  had  paid  him  in  my  youth,  being  sure 
he  must  have  forgotten  all  about  it.  I  found  him 
enormously  changed  mentally.  He  had  outgrown  all 
resemblance  to  his  former  mental  self. 

At  that  early  period  some  one  happened  to  mention 
to  me  that  a  certain  Madame  Blavatsky  had  just  ar- 
rived in  London,  bringing  with  her  a  new  religion. 
My  curiosity  was  at  once  fired,  and  I  set  off  to  call 
upon  her. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  first  interview  with  a  much 
maligned  woman,  whom  I  rapidly  came  to  know  in- 
timately and  love  dearly.  She  was  seated  in  a  great 
armchair,  with  a  table  by  her  side  on  which  lay  to- 
bacco and  cigarette  paper.  Whilst  she  spoke  her  ex- 
quisite taper  fingers  automatically  rolled  cigarettes. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  loose  black  robe,  and  on  her 
crinkly  gray  hair  she  wore  a  black  shawl.  Her  face 
was  pure  Kalmuk,  and  a  network  of  fine  wrinkles 
covered  it.  Her  eyes,  large  and  pale  green,  domi- 
nated the  countenance  —  wonderful  eyes  in  their  ar- 
resting, dreamy  mysticism. 

I  asked  her  to  explain  her  new  religion,  and  she 
answered  that  hers  was  the  very  oldest  extant,  and 
formed  the  belief  of  five  hundred  million  souls.  I 
inquired  how  it  was  that  this  stupendous  fact  had  not 
yet  touched  Christendom,  and  her  reply  was  that  there 
had  never  been  any  interference  with  Christian  thought. 
Though  judge  of  all,  Christianity  had  been  judged  by 
none.  The  rise  of  Japan  was  a  factor  of  immense 
potency,  and  in  time  would  open  out  a  new  era  in  the 
comprehension  of  East  by  West.  Then  the  meaning 


52  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

would  flash  upon  the  churches  of  the  words,  "  Neither 
in  this  mountain  nor  yet  at  Jerusalem." 

I  explained  to  her  my  difficulties,  which  she  pro- 
ceeded to  solve  by  expounding  the  doctrines  of  re- 
incarnation and  Karma.  They  jumped  instantly  to 
my  reason.  I  there  and  then  found  the  Just  God, 
of  whom  I  had  been  in  search.  From  that  day  to  this 
I  have  never  had  reason  to  swerve  from  those  beliefs. 
The  older  I  grow,  the  more  experience  I  gather,  the 
more  I  read,  the  more  confirmed  do  I  become  in  the 
belief  that  such  provide  the  only  rational  explanation 
of  this  life,  the  only  natural  hope  in  the  world  to  come. 

I  have  offered  those  beliefs  to  very  many  people 
whom  I  discovered  to  be  on  the  same  quest  as  I  had 
been.  I  have  never  once  had  them  rejected  by  any 
serious  truth-seeker,  and  I  have  seen  them  passed  on 
and  on  by  these  people  to  others,  forming  enormous 
ramifications  which  became  lost  to  view  in  the  passage 
of  time  and  their  own  magnitude. 

In  these  early  days  there  was  little  literature  avail- 
able for  the  student,  but  the  circle  of  clever  brains 
which  rapidly  surrounded  Blavatsky  set  to  work  with 
a  will  under  her  guidance,  and  now,  after  the  lapse 
of  thirty  years,  there  is  an  enormous  literature  always 
commanding  a  wide  sale,  and  the  little  circle  that 
gathered  round  "  the  old  lady  "  has  swollen  into  very 
many  thousands. 

What  was  the  secret  of  Helena  Petrovski  Bla vat- 
sky's  instant  success?  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  lay  in 
her  power  to  give  to  the  West  the  Eastern  answers 
to  those  problems  which  the  Church  has  lost. 

In  her  way  Blavatsky  was  a  true  missioner.  "  Go 
forth  on  your  journey  for  the  weal  and  the  welfare  of 
all  people,  out  of  compassion  for  the  world  and  the 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS       53 

welfare  of  angels  and  mortals,"  was  the  command 
given  by  the  Lord  Buddha  to  his  disciples,  and  Christ, 
following  the  universal  ideal,  five  hundred  years  later, 
commanded,  "  Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach 
the  Gospel  of  the  whole  Creation." 

I  began  to  study  those,  to  me,  new  doctrines  at 
once,  and  I  also  took  up  their  occult  side,  no  light  task, 
but  one  of  absorbing  interest.  Not  till  then  did  I  fully 
realize  that  in  no  one  human  life  could  that  long,  long 
path  be  trodden,  in  no  new-born  soul  could  be  de- 
veloped those  divine  possibilities  of  which  I  could  catch 
but  a  fleeting  illusive  vision. 

"  Thou  canst  not  travel  in  the  Path  before  thou 
hast  become  the  Path  itself."  Did  not  the  Christ 
warn  his  followers  that  the  Path  must  be  trodden 
more  or  less  alone?  "Forsake  all  and  follow  Me." 
So,  also  in  the  Bhagavad  Gita  it  is  written :  "  Aban- 
doning all  duties  come  unto  me  alone  for  shelter. 
Sorrow  not,  I  will  liberate  thee  from  thy  sins." 

"  The  secret  doctrine  "  written  by  Blavatsky  proved 
a  mine  of  wealth,  and  I  read  the  volumes  through 
seven  times  in  seven  different  keys.  The  works  of 
A.  P.  Sinnett,  text  books  then,  and  now  brought  up  to 
date  by  expanding  knowledge,  were  extremely  helpful. 
For  advanced  students  "  The  Growth  of  the  Soul "  is 
unsurpassed.  A  very  short  time  elapsed  before  mental 
food  was  supplied  for  practically  every  branch  of 
mysticism  and  occult  development,  and  students 
flocked  into  headquarters  from  all  parts  of  the  world. 

It  is  interesting  to  remember  the  two  adjoining 
villas  in  Avenue  Road,  St.  John's  Wood,  where  we 
used  to  congregate  to  study,  and  hear  lectures  thirty 
years  ago,  and  to  look  now  on  the  stately  buildings 
in  Tavistock  Square.  They  are  designed  by  the  great 


54  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

architect  Lutyens,  whose  wife,  Lady  Emily,  is  an  ar- 
dent theosophist.  I  am  glad  that  I  have  lived  to  see 
these  doctrines  take  firm  root  in  the  West,  and  grow 
so  amazingly  that  in  all  cities  they  are  now  held  by 
vast  numbers,  and  even  in  cases  where  they  have  not 
been  finally  adopted  they  are  acknowledged  to  be  the 
only  logical  conclusion  for  those  who  desire  to  possess 
a  rational  belief.  I  am  glad  that  I  can  look  back 
with  love  and  profound  gratitude  to  Helena  P.  Bla vat- 
sky,  the  woman  who  grafted  on  the  West  the  wis- 
dom of  the  ages.  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  is  enabled 
to  see  the  mighty  structure  raised  on  her  small  be- 
ginnings, and  doubtless  she  has  met  on  "  the  other 
side  "  men  and  women  whose  debt  to  her  is  equally 
as  great  as  mine. 

Blavatsky  began  by  exploding  the  theory  that  men 
are  born  equal.  If  this  one  life  were  all,  then  this 
great  error  ought,  in  common  justice,  to  be  absolute 
truth,  and  every  man  should  possess  common  rights 
in  the  community,  and  one  man  ought  to  be  as  good 
as  another.  If  every  soul  born  to-day  is  a  fresh 
creation,  who  will  in  the  course  of  time  pass  away 
from  this  life  for  ever,  then  why  is  it  that  one  is  only 
fitted  to  obey,  whilst  another  is  eminently  fitted  to 
rule?  One  is  born  with  a  tendency  to  vice  and  crime, 
another  to  virtue  and  honesty.  One  is  born  a  genius, 
another  is  born  to  idiocy.  How,  she  asked,  could  a 
firm  social  foundation  ever  be  built  up  on  this  utter 
disregard  of  nature?  How  treat,  as  having  right  to 
equal  power,  the  wise  and  the  ignorant,  the  criminal 
and  the  saint?  Yet,  if  man  be  born  but  once  it  would 
be  very  unjust  to  build  on  any  other  foundation. 

Re-incarnation  implies  the  evolution  of  the  soul, 
and  it  makes  the  equality  of  man  a  delusion.  In 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS      55 

evolution  time  plays  the  greatest  part,  and  through 
evolution  humanity  is  climbing.  "  Souls  while  eternal 
in  their  essence  are  of  different  ages  in  their  individu- 
ality." 

Many  of  us  must  know  people  who  though  quite 
old  in  years  are  children  in  mind.  Men  and  women 
who  having  arrived  at  three  score  years  and  ten  are 
still  utterly  childish  and  inconsequent.  They  are 
young  souls  who  have  had  the  experiences  of  very  few 
earth  lives.  Again,  we  all  know  children  who  seem 
born  abnormally  old.  Infant  prodigies,  musicians,  cal- 
culators, painters  who  have  brought  over  their  genius 
from  a  former  life. 

I  remember  once  meeting  with  a  curious  experience, 
which  is  not  very  easy  to  describe.  It  was  an  ex- 
perience more  of  feeling  than  of  seeing. 

I  was  standing  in  Milan  Cathedral.  In  front  of 
me  and  behind  was  gathered  a  crowd  of  peasants. 
High  Mass  was  being  celebrated,  and  all  the  seats  were 
occupied. 

After  a  few  moments  I  began  to  feel  a  curious 
sensation  of  being  intently  watched.  Some  pene- 
trating influence  was  probing  me  through  and  through, 
with  a  quiet  but  intensely  powerful  directness.  I  had 
the  sensation  that  my  soul  was  being  stripped  bare. 
I  looked  round,  but  could  see  nothing  to  account  for 
my  sensation.  Every  one  seemed  intent  on  their  de- 
votions. I  began  to  wonder  if  some  malicious  old 
peasant  was  throwing  over  me  the  spell  of  the  evil 
eye,  but  again  my  feelings  were  not  conscious  of  an 
evil  intent;  it  was  more  an  absorbed  speculation  di- 
rected towards  me.  Some  one  was  probing  my  soul, 
speculating  on  my  spiritual  worth  or  worthlessness, 
with  an  intensely  earnest  yet  cold  calculation. 


56  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Just  in  front  of  me  stood  a  peasant  woman  of  the 
poorest  class.  Her  back  was  towards  me,  and  over 
her  shoulder  hung  a  baby  of  not  more  than  a  year  old. 
Suddenly  I  met  the  eyes  'of  the  child  full.  Then  I 
knew.  As  a  psychological  experience  it  was  most  in- 
teresting, but  it  sent  a  little  thrill  of  creepiness  through 
me. 

The  baby  did  not  withdraw  its  gaze,  but  continued 
leisurely  to  look  me  through  and  through.  The  eyes 
were  large  and  gray,  the  expression  that  of  a  contem- 
plative savant,  with  a  faint  dash  of  irony  in  their 
glance.  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  anything  but  what  is 
now  called  "  psychic,"  but  I  am  certain  that  those 
windows  of  the  soul,  with  that  age-long  experience 
flooding  out  of  them,  would  have  arrested  the  most 
material  person.  My  husband,  who  is  accustomed  to 
my  "  flights  of  imagination,"  was  very  much  struck 
by  that  look  of  maturity,  that  suggestion  of  seonic 
knowledge. 

Blavatsky  taught  me  to  look  on  man  as  an  evolving 
entity,  in  whose  life  career  births  and  deaths  are  re- 
curring incidents.  Birth  and  death  begin  and  end  only 
a  single  chapter  in  the  book  of  life.  She  taught  me 
that  we  cannot  evade  inexorable  destiny.  I  made  my 
present  in  my  past.  To-day  I  am  making  my  future. 
In  proportion  as  I  outwear  my  past,  and  change  my 
present  abyssmal  ignorance  into  knowledge,  so  shall 
I  become  free. 

I  have  often  heard  Blavatsky  called  a  charlatan, 
and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  her  impish  behavior  often 
gave  grounds  for  this  description.  She  was  foolishly 
intolerant  of  the  many  smart  West  End  ladies  who 
arrived  in  flocks,  demanding  to  see  spooks,  masters, 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS       57 

elementals,  anything,  in  fact,  in  the  way  of  phenomena. 

Madame  Blavatsky  was  a  born  conjuror.  Her 
wonderful  fingers  were  made  for  jugglers'  tricks,  and 
I  have  seen  her  often  use  them  for  that  purpose.  I 
well  remember  my  amazement  upon  the  first  occasion 
on  which  she  exhibited  her  occult  powers,  spurious 
and  genuine. 

I  was  sitting  alone  with  her  one  afternoon,  when 
the  cards  of  Jessica,  Lady  Sykes,  the  late  Duchess  of 

Montrose  and  the  Honorable  Mrs.  S. (still  living) 

were  brought  in  to  her.  She  said  she  would  receive 
the  ladies  at  once,  and  they  were  ushered  in.  They 
explained  that  they  had  heard  of  her  new  religion, 
and  her  marvelous  occult  powers.  They  hoped  she 
would  afford  them  a  little  exhibition  of  what  she 
could  do. 

Madame  Blavatsky  had  not  moved  out  of  her  chair. 
She  was  suavity  itself,  and  whilst  conversing  she 
rolled  cigarettes  for  her  visitors  and  invited  them  to 
smoke.  She  concluded  that  they  were  not  particularly 
interested  in  the  old  faith  which  the  young  West  called 
new ;  what  they  really  were  keen  about  was  phenomena. 

That  was  so,  responded  the  ladies,  and  the  burly 
Duchess  inquired  if  Madame  ever  gave  racing  tips,  or 
lucky  numbers  for  Monte  Carlo? 

Madame  disclaimed  having  any  such  knowledge,  but 
she  was  willing  to  afford  them  a  few  moments'  amuse- 
ment. Would  one  of  the  ladies  suggest  something 
she  would  like  done? 

Lady  Sykes  produced  a  pack  of  cards  from  her 
pocket,  and  held  them  out  to  Madame  Blavatsky,  who 
shook  her  head. 

"  First  remove  the  marked  cards,"  she  said. 


58  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Lady  Sykes  laughed  and  replied,  "  Which  are 
they?" 

Madame  Blavatsky  told  her,  without  a  second's  hesi- 
tation. This  charmed  the  ladies.  It  seemed  a  good 
beginning. 

"  Make  that  basket  of  tobacco  jump  about,"  sug- 
gested one  of  them. 

The  next  moment  the  basket  had  vanished.  I  don't 
know  where  it  went,  I  only  know  it  disappeared  by 
trickery,  that  the  ladies  looked  for  it  everywhere, 
even  under  Madame  Blavatsky's  ample  skirts,  and  that 
suddenly  it  reappeared  upon  its  usual  table.  A  little 
more  jugglery  followed  and  some  psychometry,  which 
was  excellent,  then  the  ladies  departed,  apparently 
well  satisfied  with  the  entertainment. 

When  I  was  once  more  alone  with  Madame  Blavat- 
sky, she  turned  to  me  with  a  wry  smile  and  said, 
"Would  you  have  me  throw  pearls  before  swine?" 

I  asked  her  if  all  she  had  done  was  pure  trickery. 

"  Not  all,  but  most  of  it,"  she  unblushingly  replied, 
"  but  now  I  will  give  you  something  lovely  and  real." 

For  a  moment  or  two  she  was  silent,  covering  her 
eyes  with  her  hand,  then  a  sound  caught  my  ear.  I 
can  only  describe  what  I  heard  as  fairy  music,  ex- 
quisitely dainty  and  original.  It  seemed  to  proceed 
from  somewhere  just  between  the  floor  and  the  ceiling, 
and  it  moved  about  to  different  corners  of  the  room. 
There  was  a  crystal  innocence  in  the  music,  which  sug- 
gested the  dance  of  joyous  children  at  play. 

"  Now  I  will  give  you  the  music  of  life,"  said 
Madame  Blavatsky. 

For  a  moment  or  two  there  fell  a  trance-like  silence. 
The  twilight  was  creeping  into  the  room,  and  seemed 
to  bring  with  it  a  tingling  expectancy.  Then  it  seemed 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS      59 

to  me  that  something  entered  from  without,  and 
brought  with  it  utterly  new  conditions,  something 
incredible,  unimagined  and  beyond  the  bounds  of  rea- 
son. 

Some  one  was  singing,  a  distant  melody  was  creep- 
ing nearer,  yet  I  was  aware  it  had  never  been  distant, 
it  was  only  becoming  louder. 

I  suddenly  felt  afraid  of  myself.  The  air  about  me 
was  ringing  with  vibrations  of  weird,  unearthly  music, 
seemingly  as  much  around  me  as  it  was  above  and 
behind  me.  It  had  no  whereabouts,  it  was  unlocatable. 
As  I  listened  my  whole  body  quivered  with  wild  ela- 
tion, and  the  sensation  of  the  unforeseen. 

There  was  rhythm  in  the  music,  yet  it  was  unlike 
anything  I  had  ever  heard  before.  It  sounded  like  a 
Pastorale,  and  it  held  a  call  to  which  my  whole  being 
wildly  responded. 

Who  was  the  player,  and  what  was  his  instrument? 
He  might  have  been  a  flautist,  and  he  played  with  a 
catching  lilt,  a  luxurious  abandon  that  was  an  incar- 
nation of  Nature.  It  caught  me  suddenly  away  to 
green  Sicilian  hills,  where  the  pipes  of  unseen  players 
echo  down  the  mountain  sides,  as  the  pipes  of  Pan 
once  echoed  through  the  rugged  gorges  and  purple 
vales  of  Hellas  and  Thrace. 

Alluring  though  the  music  was,  and  replete  with 
the  hot  fever  of  life,  it  carried  with  it  a  thrill  of  dread. 
Its  sweetness  was  cloying,  its  tenderness  was  sensuous. 
A  balmy  scent  crept  through  the  room,  of  wild  thyme, 
of  herbs,  of  asphodel  and  the  muscadine  of  the  wine 
press.  It  enwrapt  me  like  an  odorous  vapor. 

The  sounds  began  to  take  shape,  and  gradually 
mold  themselves  into  words.  I  knew  I  was  being 
courted  with  subtlety,  and  urged  to  fly  out  of  my 


60  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

house  of  life  and  join  the  Saturnalia  Regna.  The 
player  was  speaking  a  language  which  I  understood, 
as  I  had  understood  no  tongue  before.  It  was  my 
true  native  tongue  that  spoke  in  the  wild  ringing  lilt, 
and  I  could  not  but  give  ear  to  its  enchantments  and 
the  esctasy  of  its  joy. 

My  soul  seemed  to  strain  at  the  leash.  Should  I 
let  go?  Like  a  powerful  opiate  the  allurement  en- 
folded me,  yet  from  out  its  thrall  a  small  insistent 
voice  whispered  "  Caution !  Where  will  you  be  led : 
supposing  you  yield  your  will,  would  it  ever  be  yours 
again?" 

Now  my  brain  was  seized  with  a  sense  of  panic 
and  weakness.  The  music  suddenly  seemed  replete 
with  gay  sin  fulness  and  insolent  conquest.  It  spoke 
the  secrets  which  the  nature  myth  so  often  murmurs 
to  those  who  live  amid  great  silences,  of  those  dread 
mysteries  of  the  spirit  which  yet  invest  it  with  such 
glory  and  wonderment. 

With  a  violent  reaction  of  fear  I  rose  suddenly, 
and  as  I  did  so  the  whole  scene  was  swept  from  out 
the  range  of  my  senses.  I  was  back  once  more  in 
Blavatsky's  room  with  the  creeping  twilight  and  the 
far  off  hoarse  roar  of  London  stealing  in  at  the  open 
window.  I  glanced  at  Madame  Blavatsky.  She  had 
sunk  down  in  her  chair,  and  she  lay  huddled  up  in  deep 
trance.  She  had  floated  out  with  the  music  into  a 
sea  of  earthly  oblivion.  Between  her  fingers  she  held 
a  small  Russian  cross. 

I  knew  that  she  had  thrust  me  back  to  the  world 
which  still  claimed  me,  and  I  went  quietly  out  of  the 
house  into  the  streets  of  London. 

On  another  occasion  when  I  was  alone  with  Madame 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS      61 

Blavatsky  she  suddenly  broke  off  our  conversation  by 
lapsing  into  another  language,  which  I  supposed  to  be 
Hindustanee.  She  appeared  to  be  addressing  some 
one  else,  and  on  looking  over  my  shoulder  I  saw  we 
were  no  longer  alone.  A  man  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.  I  was  sure  he  had  not  entered  by  the  door, 
window  or  chimney,  and  as  I  looked  at  him  in  some 
astonishment,  he  salaamed  to  Madame  Blavatsky,  and 
replied  to  her  in  the  same  language  in  which  she- had 
addressed  him. 

I  rose  at  once  to  leave  her,  and  as  I  bade  her  good- 
by  she  whispered  to  me,  "  Do  not  mention  this." 
The  man  did  not  seem  aware  of  my  presence ;  he  took 
no  notice  of  me  as  I  left  the  room.  He  was  dark  in 
color  and  very  sad  looking,  and  his  dress  was  a  long, 
black  cloak  and  a  soft  black  hat  which  he  did  not 
remove,  pulled  well  over  his  eyes. 

I  found  out  that  evening  that  none  of  the  general 
staff  were  aware  of  his  arrival,  and  I  saw  him  no 
more. 

I  remember  clearly  the  first  night  that  Annie  Besant 
came  to  headquarters  as  an  interested  inquirer.  She 
arrived  with  the  socialist,  Herbert  Burrows.  Ma- 
dame Blavatsky  told  me  she  was  destined  to  take  a  very 
great  part  in  the  future  Theosophical  movement.  At 
that  time  such  a  thing  seemed  incredible,  yet  it  has 
come  to  pass. 

About  this  period  I  went  to  live  in  the  East  End 
of  London,  Haggerston  and  Whitechapel,  where  I 
had  a  night  shelter  of  my  own.  There  I  saw  into  what 
surroundings  children  were  born,  how  they  grow  up, 
and  how  their  parents  live  and  die.  I  have  seen  so 
much  of  the  lives  of  the  outcast  poor  that  I  can  feel 


62  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

nothing  but  the  most  passionate  pity  for  them,  even 
though  I  can  now  look  upon  them  as  souls  just  be- 
ginning to  climb  the  ladder  of  evolution. 

My  night  shelter  was  for  women  only,  and  was 
purposely  of  the  roughest  description.  The  floor  was 
bare  concrete,  and  round  the  walls  were  heaps  of 
millers'  sacks  I  had  bought  cheap,  owing  to  mice  hav- 
ing eaten  holes  in  them. 

According  to  our  laws  the  legal  age  at  which  a  girl 
can  marry  is  thirteen,  and  I  used  to  get  many  of  these 
girl  wives  in  for  the  night,  as  their  lawful  husbands 
used  to  turn  them  out  of  doors.  I  discovered  that  it 
was  no  uncommon  practice  for  a  man  to  buy  one  of 
those  children  from  the  parents  for  a  few  pence,  the 
parents'  consent  being  necessary.  The  marriage  was 
solemnized,  and  the  child  wife  was  used  only  as  a 
drudge  to  slave  for  the  husband  and  his  mistress,  who 
was  of  a  more  suitable  age  to  become  his  mate. 

I  used  to  be  very  much  troubled  by  women  in  the 
throes  of  delirium  tremens.  They  would  come  in 
quite  quietly  when  the  shelter  opened,  strip,  pick  up 
a  sack  and  get  into  it,  and  then  lie  down  and  at  once 
go  to  sleep.  After  a  few  hours'  dead  slumber  they 
would  get  up,  raving  mad,  and  disturb  all  the  other 
sleepers.  The  reason  of  this  peculiar  form  of  D.  T. 
was  explained  to  me  by  a  doctor  in  the  neighborhood. 
The  publicans  kept  a  pail  behind  the  bar,  into  which 
was  thrown  the  dregs  of  every  species  of  liquor  sold 
during  the  day,  This  concoction  was  distributed  cheap 
at  closing  time,  and  its  effects  were  cumulative. 

One  night  I  had  a  curious  experience.  The  room 
was  unusually  quiet,  and  I  had  closed  my  eyes,  but  I 
was  not  asleep.  I  opened  them,  and,  in  the  bright 
light  of  one  unshaded  gas  jet,  I  saw  a  dark  figure  mov- 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS      63 

ing.  Its  back  was  towards  me,  and  I  instantly  thought 
a  plain  clothes  policeman  had  entered,  no  unusual 
occurrence,  without  my  hearing  him.  In  these  days 
detectives  used  often  to  escort  the  West  End  ladies 
on  slumming  expeditions,  and  they  usually  called  on 
me.  Then  I  saw  this  figure  was  clad  in  dark  robes, 
and  was  very  tall.  Again  I  thought,  this  is  some  old 
Jew  who  has  crept  in,  and  I  was  just  about  to  rise  and 
eject  him,  when  something  suddenly  stopped  me. 

/  saw  through  him  and  beyond  him.  I  then  and 
there  realized  that  feeling  of  hair  of  one's  head  rising 
on  one's  scalp  is  no  mere  figment  of  speech. 

The  figure  moved  softly  round  the  room,  it  made 
no  sound  whatever,  and  as  it  came  to  each  sleeper  it 
bent  down,  as  if  closely  scrutinizing  each  face.  It 
occurred  to  me  that  it  was  looking  for  some  one.  I 
began  to  dread  the  moment  when  the  search  was  over, 
and  the  figure  would  turn  its  face  towards  me.  I 
felt  that  my  hair  had  turned  into  the  quills  of  a  porcu- 
pine. I  wanted  to  shut  my  eyes,  but  dared  not.  Then 
^before  that  quest  was  over,  the  figure  straightened 
itself  and  turned  full  towards  me.  My  fears  instantly 
fell  away  from  me  like  a  fallen  mantle,  for  though  I 
knew  the  visitor  had  come  from  the  other  side,  there 
was  something  so  profoundly  sad  in  the  pale  weary 
face,  that  compassion  quite  eclipsed  fear.  Another 
second  and  it  had  vanished. 

I  lived  in  Whitechapel  during  the  dread  visitation 
of  "  Jack  the  Ripper,"  and  all  women  at  once  adopted 
the  habit  of  walking  in  the  middle  of  the  road  amongst 
the  horses  and  carts.  Fortunately  there  were  no  mo- 
tors in  those  days  to  add  to  the  confusion.  When 
we  came  to  the  house  or  alley  we  wished  to  enter,  we 
made  a  sudden  dash  for  it. 


64  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

One  night  I  had  occasion  to  pass  the  entire  night  by 
the  bedside  of  a  dying  prostitute.  She  lived  in  one  of 
four  rooms,  all  occupied  by  the  same  class,  and  all 
opening  into  a  court  not  larger  than  ten  feet  by  ten. 
I  suppose  I  must  have  been  very  tired,  for  I  fell  asleep, 
and  about  five  a.  m.  I  woke  and  found  I  was  alone, 
the  woman  was  dead.  I  went  out  into  the  court, 
hearing  a  sudden  noise  of  excited  voices,  and  dis- 
covered that  "  Jack "  had  been  at  work  in  the  ad- 
joining room,  only  separated  from  mine  by  a  match- 
board partition.  Portions  of  the  unfortunate  woman 
were  neatly  arranged  on  a  deal  table.  I  had  heard 
absolutely  nothing.  Later  on  that  same  day  I  re- 
visited the  scene,  and  found  a  curious  contrast.  See- 
ing his  way  to  a  cheap  furnished  lodging,  a  coster  had 
married  his  donah  in  a  hurry,  and  the  wedding  break- 
fast was  being  eaten  off  the  blood-stained  table ! 

It  was  in  those  days  that  I  developed  into  a  con- 
vinced Suffragist.  I  saw  that  until  men  and  women 
came  together  to  improve  and  mold  our  civilization, 
very  little  improvement  could  be  expected.  The  son 
of  the  bondwoman  is  not  on  a  level  with  the  son  of  the 
free  woman,  and  we  saw  that  the  struggle  must  go  on 
until  we  were  accorded  the  right  to  govern  our  own 
lives. 

I  could  always  see  the  anti's  point  of  view,  for, 
had  I  thought  only  of  my  own  position  as  an  isolated 
unit,  a  vote  would  have  seemed  to  me  a  needless 
responsibility.  No  social  worker  who  has  penetrated 
to  the  depths  can  maintain  this  attitude,  and  so,  in 
company  with  all  other  women  workers,  I  entered  on 
the  crusade  which  has  just  terminated  in  victory. 
Much  as  I  dislike  militancy,  I  am  convinced  that  it 
hastened  our  victory  by  very  many  years,  by  bringing 


EAST  END  DAYS  AND  NIGHTS       65 

the  subject  before  the  world.  Also  the  enormous  num- 
ber of  idle  and,  formerly,  indifferent  women,  who 
have  rushed  into  work  in  answer  to  their  country's 
call,  has  helped  our  cause  enormously.  I  have  in- 
variably found  that  directly  a  woman  enters  the  ranks 
of  active  labor,  her  views,  however  strongly  they 
have  been  opposed  to  us,  at  once  swing  round.  Once 
a  woman  proves  for  herself  the  disabilities  under  which 
we  labor,  she  is  at  once  converted.  To  the  very  many 
women  who  suffered  acute  physical  torture  during  the 
militant  campaign,  our  easy  victory  must  seem  passing 
strange. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   MAN   IN   THE   MARYLEBONE   ROAD 

IT  is  thirty  years  ago  since  I  became  a  convert  to 
Spiritualism.     At  that  time  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  attend  fifty  seances,  and  if,  out  of 
that  number,  I  did  not  come  across  one  that  I  could 
be  absolutely  certain  was  genuine  I  would  attend  no 
more.     Spiritualism,   in   itself,   never   interested   me, 
but  I  was  determined  to  see  for  myself  if  there  was 
really  anything  in  it 

I  attended  twenty-nine  seances  before  I  happened 
on  one  that  was  absolutely  convincing.  Several  had 
been  almost  convincing,  but  a  loophole  for  fraud  had 
remained,  and  so  long  as  that  was  the  case  I  persevered. 

I  went  one  summer  morning  to  see  an  old  man  who 
lived  in  the  Marylebone  Road.  I  was  shown  up  into 
a  sunny  little  room  on  the  first  floor.  It  had  neither 
carpet,  curtains  nor  window  blind,  and  it  looked  on 
the  street.  The  furniture  consisted  of  a  plain,  un- 
covered deal  table  in  the  middle  of  a  clean  planked 
floor,  and  eight  plain  uncovered  deal  chairs  were 
ranged  round  the  walls.  The  room  was  utterly  desti- 
tute of  ornament,  there  was  not  even  a  clock,  and  I 
was  the  only  occupant. 

Soon  the  old  man  entered,  a  very  ordinary  looking 
person,  and  civilly  asked  what  I  wanted. 

I  said  that  I  understood  he  was  possessed  of  psychic 
powers,  and  I  would  like  to  see  an  exhibition  of  them. 

He  smiled  and  answered,  "  My  fee  is  two-and-six 

66 


THE  MAN  IN  MARYLEBONE  ROAD    67 

for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Choose  your  own  phenome- 
non, and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

I  was  puzzled  at  first,  and  looked  round  the  bare 
walls  for  inspiration.  There  was  not  even  a  photo- 
graph or  picture.  Then  suddenly  I  thought  of  some- 
thing rather  silly. 

"  Please  make  those  four  chairs  opposite  to  us  cross 
the  floor  and  mount  on  to  the  table,"  I  said. 

The  old  man  drew  his  chair  quite  close  to  mine, 
"  Then  give  me  your  hand."  I  removed  my  glove  and 
did  as  he  asked. 

He  looked,  not  at  the  chairs,  but  into  my  face,  and 
I  at  once  warned  him. 

"  I  am  no  good  as  a  subject  for  hypnotism,  so  it  is 
useless  to  try." 

He  laughed  and  answered,  "  I  am  not  a  hypnotist, 
but  I  see  you  have  power.  You  may  as  well  lend  me 
some.  You  are  young,  and  I  am  old." 

At  that  second  my  attention  was  distracted  by  a 
grating  sound,  and  I  forgot  all  about  my  companion. 
I  saw  the  four  chairs  leave  the  wall  and  advance 
towards  the  table,  in  exactly  the  position,  and  tilted 
forward,  they  would  be  in  if  a  human  hand  was  drag- 
ging them  across  the  floor.  There  appeared  to  be  four 
invisible  hands  at  the  work. ,  Then,  one  by  one,  they 
were  neatly  balanced,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other,  on 
the  table. 

When  the  manifestation  was  complete  I  remembered 
the  old  man,  and  looked  round  at  him.  He  was  watch- 
ing the  business,  as  keenly  interested  as  I  was. 

"  Good  boys !  good  boys,"  I  heard  him  murmur. 

"  How  is  it  done  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

He  shrugged.  "The  Petris  (spirits)  do  it.  I 
don't." 


68  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

"  Then  ask  '  the  Petris '  to  put  the  chairs  neatly 
back  again." 

"  The  Petris "  performed  this  feat  very  expedi- 
tiously,  and  I  paid  two-and-sixpence  and  departed. 
There  was  no  loophole  here  for  fraud,  not  a  wire,  or 
string,  or  any  human  manipulation,  and  I  was  not 
hypnotized.  I  never  have  been.  For  that  sort  of  test 
I  had  seen  enough. 

Shortly  after  I  witnessed  a  materialization  in  broad 
daylight.  I  was  free  to  move  about  the  room,  and 
stand  by  the  medium  as  she  lay  bound  and  deeply 
entranced.  I  was  free  to  make  any  examinations  I 
pleased,  whilst  others  present  conversed  with  the  spirit, 
and  I  left  the  house  absolutely  convinced  of  the  genu- 
ineness of  that  phenomenon. 

That  was  the  last  test  seance  I  attended,  and  for 
years  afterwards  I  did  not  interest  myself  in  spiritual- 
ism, nor  did  I  attend  many  private  sittings. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  South  African  War  I  was 
ordered  from  "  the  other  side  "  to  begin  again,  but  on 
different  lines.  I  was  ordered  to  be  a  medium. 

A  man  whom  I  barely  knew,  and  who  had  passed 
over,  wished  to  communicate  with  his  people.  This 
put  me  in  a  quandary.  I  hardly  knew  his  people,  and 
their  social  position  was  not  such  as  could  be  treated 
unceremoniously  by  a  casual  acquaintance.  I  had 
never  heard  that  they  were  interested  in  "  other  side  " 
subjects.  The  very  little  I  knew  of  them  suggested 
quite  the  reverse. 

I  consulted  with  my  husband.  "  One  cannot,"  I 
argued,  "  go  up  to  people  who  are  almost  strangers 
and  tell  them  their  son  wishes  to  communicate  with 
them  through  me." 

My  husband  quite  saw   the  difficulty,   but  it  had 


THE  MAN  IN  MARYLEBONE  ROAD     69 

always  happened  that  when  any  one  wished  to  com- 
municate with  us,  and  we  paid  no  attention,  we  were 
given  no  peace  till  we  did  take  heed,  and  sat  down  with 
an  Ouija  board  to  receive  the  message.  He  therefore 
proposed  that  we  should  consult  Mr.  A.  P.  Sinnett, 
now  such  a  well-known  writer  on  Occultism,  and  an 
old  friend  of  ours.  We  therefore  laid  the  matter 
before  him. 

His  reply  was  uncompromising. 

"  Do  as  you  are  told  from  the  other  side.  It  is 
not  for  you  to  question  or  consider  the  social  conse- 
quences to  yourselves." 

This  advice  we  immediately  followed,  and  we  were 
met  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  sympathetic  under- 
standing. Sittings  were  arranged,  communication  es- 
tablished. Test  questions  were  put,  which  we  did 
not  understand,  but  which  were  satisfactory  to  the 
questioners,  and  for  many  years  the  sittings  continued 
until  the  "  other  side "  made  arrangements  for  a 
change  of  mediums  and  I  was  set  free  for  other  work. 
I  say,  set  free,  because  during  all  those  years  we  had 
held  ourselves  entirely  at  the  disposal  of  this  wonderful 
spirit,  who  communicated  through  me,  and  it  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  our  daily  lives,  our  worldly 
plans,  entirely  depended  upon  his  wishes.  He  had  his 
own  work  to  do,  and  our  earth  lives  were  always 
arranged  to  suit  his  convenience. 

About  the  same  time  as  the  above  experience  began 
my  husband  was  disturbed  by  noises  in  his  library, 
and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  some  one  had  some- 
thing to  say  and  was  determined  to  say  it.  One 
evening,  when  the  disturbance  prevented  serious  read- 
ing, we  sat  down  with  the  Ouija  board.  The  result 
was  as  follows  — 


70  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

A  spirit  who  purported  to  be  a  well-known  soldier 
of  fortune  who  had  lately  committed  suicide,  desired 
to  give  a  message.  This  astonished  us,  as  we  had 
known  him  only  slightly,  and  we  wondered  why  he 
had  chosen  to  bestow  his  attentions  on  us.  He  said 
he  was  very  unhappy  because  he  owed  a  certain  sum 
of  money  to  a  friend,  whom  I  will  call  B.  This  money 
B.  could  have  refunded  to  him  if  he  would  com- 
municate with  a  certain  London  address,  which  the  de- 
parted soldier  gave  us  in  full. 

We  knew  B.,  and  knew  that  he  had  been  a  close 
friend  of  the  departed.  We  also  knew  that  B.  was 
on  the  Gold  Coast.  We  promised,  however,  to  send 
him  the  message,  and  that  was  the  last  we  ever  heard 
of  the  soldier. 

My  husband  wrote  to  B.  on  the  Gold  Coast  simply 
giving  him  the  message  and  leaving  it  at  that.  We 
were  sure  B.  was  an  absolute  skeptic.  He  was!  and 
did  nothing  till  his  return  to  England  three  years  later, 
when  he  applied  at  the  address  which  he  happened 
to  have  kept,  and  received  his  money. 

I  first  became  interested  in  Occultism,  not  only 
through  my  own  very  early  experiences,  but  through 
hearing  as  a  mere  child  that  my  grandfather,  Robert 
the  younger  of  the  two  well-known  publishing  brothers, 
W.  and  R.  Chambers,  had  investigated  spiritualism  to 
his  entire  satisfaction. 

In  those  days,  about  1860,  scientific  men  did  not 
trouble  about  occult  subjects,  which  were  deemed  be- 
neath their  notice.  Science  was  so  strictly  orthodox 
that  my  grandfather  published  his  "  Vestiges  of  Crea- 
tion "  anonymously.  It  created  an  enormous  sensa- 
tion, and  upon  that  book  and  the  writings  of  Lamarck, 
Darwin  founded  his  "  Origin  of  Species."  Robert 


THE  MAN  IN  MARYLEBONE  ROAD     71 

Chambers  determined  to  go  to  America  and  investigate 
for  himself  the  reported  marvelous  happenings  there. 
He  had  sittings  with  all  the  renowned  mediums, 
bringing  to  bear  upon  their  phenomena  the  acumen  of 
his  scientific  mind,  and  he  returned  to  Europe  a  con- 
vinced believer.  He  carried  on  regular  sittings  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall  and  other  intellectuals,  and 
with  General  Dray  son,  then  a  young  beginner  who 
went  very  far  in  his  investigations  before  he  died. 

About  the  year  1885  I  happened  to  be  staying  at 
Hawarden  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone,  and  the  only 
other  guest,  outside  the  family  party,  was  the  late 
Canon  Malcolm  McColl,  through  whose  instrumen- 
tality I  became  a  member  of  the  Psychical  Society. 

McColl  was  a  most  interesting  personality,  a  leading 
light  on  matters  occult,  and  a  famous  recounter  of 
ghost  stories.  'He  was  also  persona  grata  in  the  Glad- 
stone household,  and  Mrs.  Gladstone  often  spoke  to 
me  of  their  deep  love  for  him. 

I  forget  now  what  led  up  to  the  subject,  but  one 
night,  when  we  were  sitting  talking,  I  told  Mr.  Glad- 
stone that  my  grandfather,  Robert  Chambers,  had  been 
a  convinced  spiritualist.  The  Canon  at  once  tried  to 
draw  the  G.O.M.,  and  to  our  mutual  amazement  his 
arguments  in  favor  of  the  return  of  the  disembodied 
soul  to  earth  were  met  by  concurring  short  ejacula- 
tions, such  as  "Of  course!  Naturally!  Why,  cer- 
tainly!" 

Then  quite  suddenly  Mr.  Gladstone  began  to  prove 
to  us  that  the  old  Biblical  scribes  were  convinced 
spiritualists.  From  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
Bible  he  quoted  text  after  text  in  support  of  his  con- 
tention. "  Here  He  worked  no  wonders  because  the 
people  were  wanting  in  faith,"  he  compared  to  the 


72  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

present  day  medium's  difficulty  in  working  with  skep- 
tics. When  Christ  asked,  "  Who  has  touched  Me  ? 
Much  virtue  has  passed  out  of  Me,"  He  but  spoke  as 
many  a  modern  healer  speaks  on  feeling  a  failure  of 
power.  "  Try  the  spirits  whether  they  be  of  God," 
is  what  all  spiritualists  of  to-day  should  practice 
rigorously. 

Conan  Doyle,  in  his  book,  "  The  New  Revelation," 
touches  upon  those  facts,  and  it  was  only  on  reading 
his  book  with  profound  interest  that  I  remembered 
the  impressive  talk  I  had  so  many  years  ago  with 
Mr.  Gladstone.  As  Conan  Doyle  truly  says,  "  The 
early  Christian  Church  was  saturated  with  spiritual- 
ism." 

What,  it  may  be  asked,  is  the  value  to  a  woman 
of  psychic  experiences,  whose  reality  may  be  convinc- 
ing to  herself,  but  never  to  others? 

Firstly,  there  is  this  enormous  value  for  me,  that 
certain  psychic  experiences  I  have  had  make  a  future 
existence,  after  so-called  death,  a  certainty. 

Secondly,  other  varieties  of  psychic  phenomena  have 
furnished  me  with  unmistakable  proof  that  I  possess 
an  immortal  soul. 

Thirdly,  still  other  varieties  of  experiences  have 
provided  me  with  the  implicit  belief  in  a  God,  who  is 
in  actual  touch  with  Humanity. 

Again,  all  soul  experiences,  begotten  from  out  the 
supreme  mystery  of  Being,  show  us  that  our  real  life 
is  not  contained  in  our  present  normal  consciousness, 
but  in  a  vastly  wider,  grander  plane,  which,  as  yet,  is 
but  dimly  sensed  by  the  few. 

Those  who  have  bathed  in  "  the  light  invisible " 
can  bring  glory  to  those  in  gloom.  They  visit,  but 
no  longer  live  in  the  day.  Their  glory  is  in  the  night, 


THE  MAN  IN  MARYLEBONE  ROAD     73 

when  they  walk  with  the  Immortals,  and  bear  with 
them  the  golden  lamps  of  life  eternal.  Those  who 
have  realized  the  powers  within,  powers  which  not 
only  are  the  pillars  of  infinite  harmony,  but  the  main- 
spring of  eternal  life,  have  builded  on  a  rock  which  no 
tempest  can  destroy. 

"  Tis  time 

New  hopes  should  animate  the  world, 
New  light  should  dawn  from  new  revealings  to  a  race 
Weighed  down  so  long." 

PARACELSUS. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   GHOST   OF   PRINCE   CHARLIE 

SCOTLAND  in  the  autumn  of  the  pre-war  days 
was  a  very  gay  place.  The  big  country  houses 
were  filled  with  shooting  parties,  and  for  the 
Autumn  Meetings,  Ayr  races,  Perth  races,  and  games, 
The  Inverness  Gathering,  etc.  The  dates  were  so  ar- 
ranged that  one  could  go  the  round,  and  thus  dance 
through  several  weeks.  I  used  to  go  regularly  to 
Inverness,  and  afterwards  visit  friends  in  the  sur- 
rounding neighborhood.  One  of  the  most  delightful 
houses  to  visit  was  Tarbat,  belonging  to  the  Countess 
of  Cromartie.  Any  one  who  has  read  her  unique 
books  must  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Lady 
Cromartie  is  a  mystic  of  no  ordinary  type,  but  only 
those  who  know  her  intimately  are  aware  how  pre- 
dominating in  her  character  is  this  inborn  mysticism. 
I  first  remember  the  two  sisters,  Lady  Sibell  and 
Lady  Constance  Mackenzie,  hanging  on  to  their 
father's  arms  as  they  walked  about  Folkestone.  They 
were  then  tiny  tots,  and  I  was  staying  with  their 
mother,  the  beautiful  Lilian,  daughter  of  Lord  Mac- 
donald  of  the  Isles.  Beautiful  was  the  only  word  to 
describe  Lord  Cromartie's  wife  —  and  Lily  seemed  the 
most  suitable  name  that  could  have  been  bestowed 
upon  her.  She  was  intensely  musical  and  interested 
in  ghosts.  Born  the  daughter  of  a  Highland  chief- 

74 


THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE    75 

tain  she  understood  how  to  live  the  life  of  a  great 
Scottish  noblewoman.  She  was  always  very  kind  to 
me,  and  I  used  to  stay  with  her  very  often. 

In  1893  Lord  Cromartie  died,  and  his  eldest 
daughter,  Lady  Sibell,  became  Countess  of  Cromartie 
in  her  own  right  —  the  title  going  in  the  female  line. 
As  a  child  the  young  Countess  had  been  a  great  reader. 
I  remember  she  used  often  to  be  missing,  and  found 
in  some  quiet  room  buried  in  a  book.  To  this  day 
she  has  the  faculty  of  so  absorbing  herself  in  a  book 
that  no  amount  of  talking  and  noise  in  the  room  pene- 
trates her  ears.  Lady  Constance  was  quite  different, 
devoted  to  out-of-door  life,  and  I  shall  never  forget 
how  adoring  the  old  people  on  the  properties  were  to 
her,  and  how  she  loved  them.  One  sterling  and  un- 
usual quality  she  had.  I  never  heard  her  say  an  un- 
kind word  of  any  one. 

In  1899  the  Countess  of  Cromartie  married  Major, 
now  Colonel  Blunt,  and  she  has  three  fine  children, 
two  boys  and  a  girl. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  facts  about  her  is  her 
agelessness.  She  never  alters  with  the  years.  Her 
white  delicate  skin,  her  girlish  figure  and  dark  glowing 
eyes,  always  retain  their  look  of  extreme  youth. 

I  have  said  that  her  mysticism  must  at  once  become 
apparent  to  the  readers  of  her  books,  but  to  those, 
who  like  myself  have  known  her  from  childhood,  her 
psychic  powers  have  always  been  extraordinary. 

I  remember  one  autumn  staying  at  Tarbat  with 
only  a  very  few  other  guests,  I  forget  now  who  they 
all  were.  It  had  been  a  dead,  still  day.  One  of  those 
sad,  brooding  days  one  gets  so  often  in  the  north.  In 
the  afternoon,  when  we  were  out  walking,  Lady 
Cromartie  said  suddenly  to  me  and  a  Miss  Drummond, 


76  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

whom  we  were  both  very  fond  of,  "  There  is  going  to 
be  an  earthquake  to-night." 

We  received  this  piece  of  information  as  a  joke, 
and  I  thought  nothing  more  of  the  matter  till  tea-time, 
when  a  gorgeous  sunset  was  illuminating  the  heavens. 
As  we  were  standing  at  the  window  looking  out  at  it 
we  were  all  startled  by  a  tremendous  roar,  more  like 
a  very  loud  peal  of  thunder  than  anything  else,  yet  we 
knew,  by  the  look  of  the  sky,  that  it  could  not  have 
been  thunder.  Every  one  offered  a  different  opinion 
as  to  what  the  noise  could  mean,  but  Lady  Cromartie 
calmly  said,  "  The  noise  is  in  the  earth,  not  in  the  sky ; 
it  is  the  forerunner  of  the  earthquake." 

We  now  began  to  take  this  earthquake  business 
more  seriously.  Sibell  Drummond,  also  very  psychic, 
said  she  knew  the  noise  came  from  the  interior  of  the 
earth,  and  that  very  early  that  morning  she  had  heard 
the  same  sound,  only  much  more  distant.  We  asked 
Lady  Cromartie  how  she  could  possibly  tell  that  an 
earthquake  was  coming.  Such  convulsions  are  not 
common  enough  in  Scotland  to  admit  of  lucky  guesses. 

"  I  can  tell  those  things  of  Nature ;  something  in 
me  is  akin  to  them,"  she  explained.  "  It  is  quite  cer- 
tain this  earthquake  will  come  before  morning." 

As  the  sun  went  down  the  quiet  weather  changed, 
and  by  bed-time  it  was  blowing  such  a  gale  that  we 
forgot  all  about  Lady  Cromartie's  prophecy.  At  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  we  were  all  asleep,  the 
earthquake  arrived,  and  awakened  us  all  instantly. 
My  bed  rocked,  and  the  china  clattered,  and  I  heard 
a  big  picture  near  my  bed  move  out  from  the  wall 
and  go  back  again.  Some  of  us  got  up,  but  there  was 
only  the  one  sharp  shock.  In  the  morning  we  heard 
that  considerable  damage  had  been  done.  Several 


THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE     77 

houses  and  stables  had  been  razed  to  the  ground,  and 
some  animals  killed  and  people  injured. 

Another  curious  incident  I  remember  happening 
during  a  visit  to  Tarbat. 

At  breakfast  one  morning  Lady  Cromartie  told  us 
that  she  had  a  very  vivid  dream  just  before  daylight. 
She  dreamed  that  if  she  went  into  a  certain  room  in 
the  house  she  would  find  some  jewels  that  had  been 
hidden  there.  She  seemed  to  have  been  told  this  in 
her  sleep  by  some  one  she  did  not  know.  The  room 
was  indicated,  but  not  the  spot  where  the  jewels  lay. 
The  present  Duke  of  Argyll,  always  keenly  alive  to 
psychic  phenomena,  was  of  our  party,  and  he  at  once 
proposed  that  directly  after  we  had  finished  breakfast 
we  should  all  proceed  to  the  room,  rarely  used,  but 
formerly  a  business  room,  and  make  a  thorough 
search. 

By  the  way,  I  cannot  refrain  here  from  suggesting 
what  a  wonderful  book  of  Scottish  ghost  stories  the 
Duke  could  give  us  if  he  chose.  His  repertoire  was 
endless  and  most  thrilling,  and  he  knew  how  to  tell 
a  ghost  story. 

After  breakfast  we  adjourned  to  the  room  indicated 
in  the  dream,  and  began  our  search.  The  only  likely 
place  seemed  a  large  bookcase,  full  of  books,  with  cup- 
boards beneath.  All  the  doors  were  locked  and  key- 
less. A  pause  ensued  whilst  keys  were  fetched  from 
the  housekeeper's  room,  and  for  a  long  time  we  could 
find  nothing  to  fit  the  doors,  but  at  last  we  were  re- 
warded. The  cupboards  below  were  opened,  disclos- 
ing a  quantity  of  rubbish.  Old  books,  estate  maps, 
fishing  tackle,  every  sort  of  thing,  but  no  jewels. 

At  last  the  Duke,  down  on  his  knees  fumbling 
amongst  the  dust,  drew  forth  two  tin  japanned  boxes. 


78  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

He  shook  them,  and  the  thumping  inside  proved  that 
they  were  not  empty.  The  trouble  was  they  also  were 
locked  and  keyless.  Again  there  was  a  scramble  to 
fit  keys.  We  were  all  on  the  tiptoe  of  excited  expec- 
tation. 

At  last  both  boxes  were  opened,  and  there  lay  the 
jewels.  Fine,  old-fashioned  pieces  that  had  lain  there, 
who  knows  for  how  long,  and  probably  had  belonged 
to  Lady  Cromartie's  grandmother,  "  the  Countess 
Duchess  "  3rd  Duchess  of  Sutherland. 

Still  another  reminiscence  of  beautiful  Tarbat 

Lady  Cromartie  asked  me  to  join  a  shooting  party 
she  and  Major  Blunt  were  giving,  to  meet  Prince 
Arthur  of  Connaught. 

I  arrived  one  evening  in  wild  winter  weather. 
There  had  been  a  heavy  snowstorm,  and  the  sky 
looked  as  if  there  was  considerably  more  to  come.  I 
found  all  the  other  guests  had  already  arrived,  and  we 
were  a  very  merry  party.  It  was  Prince  Arthur's 
first  "  shoot "  in  the  far  North,  and  his  first  experi- 
ence of  what  Scotland  could  provide  in  the  way  of 
autumn  weather,  and  he  was  glad  to  avail  himself  of 
a  thick  woolen  sweater  of  mine,  which  I  was  proud  to 
present  to  him.  He  was  perfectly  charming  to  us  all, 
and  there  was,  owing  to  his  simplicity,  no  sense  of 
stiffness  introduced  into  our  party.  That  evening, 
after  dinner,  he  was  strolling  round  the  room,  looking 
at  the  pictures,  and  he  paused  opposite  a  framed  letter, 
written  by  Prince  Charles  Edward  during  the  '45  to 
the  Lord  Cromartie  of  that  time,  who  was  his  earnest 
supporter. 

"Why!"  exclaimed  Prince  Arthur,  "that  letter  is 
written  by  '  The  Pretender,'  isn't  it?  " 

There   was   no   answer.     A   thrill   of  horror   ran 


THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE     79 

through  the  breasts  of  the  ardent  Jacobites  present. 
Dead  silence  reigned. 

Then  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  "  Please,  sir,"  I 
said,  "  we  all  call  him  Prince  Charles  Edward  Stuart." 

Prince  Arthur  turned  round  laughingly.  "  I  beg  his 
pardon  and  all  of  yours,"  he  exclaimed  in  the  most 
charming  manner,  and  the  hearts  of  all  the  outraged 
Jacobites  warmed  to  him  at  once. 

I  was  just  about  to  creep  into  bed,  very  late  that 
night,  and  very  tired  after  my  long,  cold  journey  in 
a  desperately  sluggish  train,  when  Lady  Cromartie 
peeped  in  at  my  door.  Her  wonderful  dark  eyes  were 
ablaze,  and  I  knew  at  once  she  had  something  psychic 
to  tell  me.  Her  eyes  looked  like  nothing  else  in  the 
world  but  her  eyes,  when  she  is  on  the  track  of  a  ghost, 
or  one  of  her  "  other  side  "  experiences. 

"  I  have  just  seen  Prince  Charles  Edward,"  she  an- 
nounced. 

I  took  her  firmly  by  the  arm.  Prince  Charles  Ed- 
ward means  a  very  great  deal  to  me,  and  I  don't  let 
anything  pass  me  by  that  concerns  his  beloved  memory. 

"Tell  me  quick.  Where  did  you  see  him?"  I 
asked. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  get  into  bed  when  I  saw  him 
standing  looking  at  me,  at  the  far  end  of  the  room. 
He  was  smiling,  and  as  I  stared  back  at  him  he  slowly 
crossed  the  floor,  his  smiling  face  always  turned  to  me, 
and  vanished  through  the  wall,"  was  Lady  Cromartie's 
answer. 

Then  I  told  her  of  a  certain  feeling  I  had  experi- 
enced earlier  in  the  evening.  At  the  moment  when 
our  Jacobite  hearts  were  stung  to  deep,  though  fleet- 
ing resentment,  we  had  formed  a  thought  form,  power- 
ful enough  to  reach  the  spirit  of  Bonny  Prince  Charlie 


80  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

on  "  the  other  side."  Our  spirits  had  called  on  him, 
and  he  had  heard  and  responded.  Why  not?  If  we 
believe  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  soul  of 
Prince  Charles  Edward  surely  lives.  Where?  On 
the  Astral  plane,  where  the  souls  of  all  must  go  to 
divest  themselves  of  the  lower  passions  of  earth,  and 
the  veil  between  the  Physical  plane  and  the  Astral 
plane  is  wearing  very  thin  in  these  days. 

For  many  of  us  there  are  rents  through  which  we 
are  permitted  to  see  the  old  friends  who  are  not  lost 
but  gone  before,  and  who  await  us  in  a  sphere  where 
we  in  turn  will  await  the  coming  of  those  who  follow 
after.  Indeed,  the  time  does  not  now  seem  to  be  so 
far  distant  when  so-called  death  will  be  pushed  one 
stage  further  back,  and  the  transference  of  the  soul 
from  earth  to  the  Astral  plane  will  no  longer  be  treated 
as  severance.  What  then  will  be  termed  the  severance 
we  now  call  death?  It  will  be  the  passing  of  the 
cleansed  soul  from  the  Astral  plane  to  the  Heaven 
world,  for  a  period  of  blissful  rest  before  the  life  urge 
compels  the  reincarnating  ego  to  take  on  once  more 
the  veil  of  flesh,  in  a  transient  human  world. 

I  doubt  if  it  is  possible  for  an  English  person  to 
comprehend  what  it  means  to  be  a  Jacobite.  One  is 
born  a  Jacobite  or  one  is  not.  I  was  born  a  Jacobite, 
and  I  never  lose  my  passionate  love  and  regret  for  the 
sufferings  and  sorrows  of  Prince  Charles  Edward. 
No  female  figure  in  the  past  attracts  me  so  much  as 
does  Flora  MacDonald.  Had  I  lived  during  the  '45 
I  would  have  worn  the  white  cockade,  and  parted  with 
my  last  "  shift  "  for  the  love  of  Bonny  Prince  Charlie. 
All  very  ridiculous,  many  may  say,  but  there  it  is. 
That  is  what  it  means  to  be  born  a  Jacobite. 

My  grandfather  was  an  ardent  Jacobite,  and  con- 


THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE     81 

sorted  largely  with  old  Jacobite  families.  The  So- 
bieski  Stuarts  often  made  their  home  with  him. 
Grand  looking  men  of  striking  physique  and  good 
looks.  Robert  Chambers  used  to  tell  a  story  of  the 
ghost  Piper  of  Fingask;  the  property  of  a  fine  old 
Jacobite,  Sir  Peter  Murray  Threipland.  The  baron- 
etcy is  now  extinct. 

One  night,  whilst  my  grandfather  was  visiting  Sir 
Peter,  they  were  sitting  at  supper  in  the  old  dining- 
hall.  The  two  old  sisters  of  Sir  Peter,  Eliza  and 
Jessie,  were  present.  Suddenly  the  faint  strain  of 
the  pipes  was  heard  in  the  distance,  surely  no  uncom- 
mon sound  in  Scotland,  where  every  Laird  has  his 
own  piper  to  play  round  the  dining-table,  yet  a  sudden 
silence  fell  upon  the  little  party  of  four.  All  ears 
were  listening  intently,  and  straining  eyes  were  blank 
to  all  but  the  evidence  of  hearing.  The  noise  grew 
louder,  the  piper  seemed  to  be  mounting  the  stone 
staircase,  yet  his  brogues  made  no  sound  as  he  as- 
cended. 

Sir  Peter  dropped  his  head  down  into  his  arms 
folded  upon  the  table.  He  sought  to  hide  the  fear 
in  his  old  eyes.  The  women  sat  as  if  chiseled  out  of 
granite,  gray  to  the  lips.  The  piper  of  Fingask  had 
come  for  one  of  them.  Which?  Now  the  piper  of 
death  was  drawing  very  near,  the  skirl  of  his  pipes 
had  nearly  reached  the  door.  In  another  moment, 
with  a  full  blast  of  triumph  that  beat  about  their 
ears  as  it  surged  into  the  hall,  he  had  passed,  and  had 
begun  his  ascent  to  the  ramparts.  The  skirl  was 
dying  away  into  a  wail.  Miss  Eliza  spoke :  "  He's 
come  for  you,  Jessie."  There  was  no  response.  The 
piper  of  Fingask  was  playing  a  "  Last  Lament "  now, 
as  he  swung  round  the  ramparts. 


82  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

True  enough  he  had  come  for  Miss  Jessie,  and  very 
shortly  after  she  obeyed  the  call. 

To  this  day  there  are  men  and  women  who  never 
forget  to  offer  up  their  passionate  regret  for  Prince 
Charles  before  they  sleep.  I  know  of  one  old  Scottish 
house  where  his  memory  is  an  ever-present,  ever- 
living  thing.  The  shadowy  old  room  is  consecrated 
to  him.  On  the  walls  hang  portraits  of  him,  and  tro- 
phies of  the  '15  and  the  '45  stand  round  in  glass  cases. 
On  one  table  lies  a  worn,  white  cockade,  yellow  with 
age,  and  a  lock  of  fair  hair  clasped  by  a  band  of 
blackened  pearls.  In  a  tall  slender  glass  there  is  al- 
ways, in  summer  time,  a  single  white  rose. 

Above  is  the  portrait  of  the  idol  of  the  present 
house,  who  gave  in  the  past  of  their  all  in  life  and 
treasure,  for  the  cause  they  hold  so  sacred,  so  dear. 
I  cannot  look  upon  that  gay,  careless,  handsome  face 
without  the  tears  rising  to  my  eyes.  His  eyes  smile 
into  mine.  Involuntarily  I  bend  before  him.  What 
was  the  power  in  you,  Prince  Charles  Edward  Stuart, 
that  drew  from  countless  women  and  men  that  wild 
unswerving  devotion?  Which  made  light  of  terrible 
hardships,  which  followed  you  faithfully  through  glen 
and  corrie?  What  is  that  power  which  you  still  exert 
over  those  to  whom  your  name  is  but  a  memory,  but 
who  still,  when  they  think  on  you  or  look  upon  your 
pictured  face,  cry  silently  in  their  hearts  for  the  lost 
House  of  Stuart?  "Oh!  waes  me  for  Prince 
Charlie!" 

One  must  be  Scotch  to  understand  that  the  Union 
did  nothing  to  unite  England  and  Scotland.  To  the 
Scottish  plowman  the  Englishman  is  still  a  foreigner, 
whom  he  dislikes.  Scotch  and  English  servants  do 
not  work  well  in  the  same  house.  To  us,  Mary  Queen 


THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE     83 

of   Scots   lived   "  only   the   other   day."     When   the 
House  of  Stuart  passed  from  us  our  history  ended. 

Our  old  houses  are  full  of  ghosts,  the  atmosphere 
is  saturated  with  the  tragic  history  of  the  past,  the  very 
skies  seem  to  brood  in  melancholy  over  the  soil,  where 
so  many  wild  bloody  scenes  were  enacted.  To  the 
Psychic,  Scotland  is  a  land  not  yet  emerged  from  the 
dour  savagery  of  the  past.  Once,  on  visiting  an 
historic  old  castle,  my  host  pointed  out  to  me  a  group 
of  seven  old  trees  standing  close  to  the  entrance. 

"  Seven  skeletons  lie  there,"  he  said.  "  My  grand- 
father went  after  a  neighboring  clan  who  had  raided 
his  cattle.  He  brought  back  seven  men  with  halters 
round  their  necks  and  strung  them  up  to  those  trees. 
Holes  were  dug  beneath,  and  they  all  dropped  into  them 
by  degrees,  and  then  the  earth  was  shoveled  over  them 
again." 

What  will  become  of  all  those  grand  old  places  in 
the  future?  They  are  so  costly  to  maintain.  I  think 
of  all  those  lying  around  our  own  Aberdeenshire  home ; 
Fyvie  Castle,  a  great  stately  pile,  beautiful  to  look 
upon  always,  but  more  especially  so  when  the  red 
fires  of  a  winter  sunset  blaze  upon  its  many  windows, 
and  turn  to  rose  the  mantling  snow  on  battlements 
and  towers,  whilst  all  around  is  wrapped  in  a  garment 
of  spotless  white:  House  of  Monymusk,  Craigston 
Castle,  Craigievar. 

I  have  just  mentioned  a  few,  all  have  their  ghosts, 
and  some  have  a  curse  upon  them. 

A  friend  of  ours  came  to  see  us,  not  very  long  ago, 
and  told  us  of  a  horrible  experience  he  had  been 
through  recently. 

He  had  been  visiting  a  great  house  in  the  North, 
noted  in  Scottish  history.  The  new  Laird  had  only 


84  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

entered  into  possession  during  the  last  few  years,  on 
the  death  of  a  near  relative,  who  had  died  from  ex- 
cessive drinking,  the  Scotchman's  curse.  Our  friend 
had  heard  that  this  dead  Laird  "  walked,"  but  he  had 
not  met  any  one  who  had  actually  seen  his  ghost. 
After  spending  a  pleasant  evening  with  his  host,  and 
going  through  many  reminiscences  of  his  former  visits 
to  the  house,  and  to  the  late  Laird,  who  in  spite  of  his 
fatal  propensities  had  been  a  gallant  gentleman  and 
a  great  sportsman,  our  friend  retired  to  bed. 

The  room  he  slept  in  was  a  large  one,  and  the  bed 
faced  the  door,  and  a  washstand  stood  on  one  side  of 
it.  He  remembered  the  room,  having  slept  in  it  on 
former  occasions.  He  was  roused  in  the  night  by 
some  one  rather  noisily  fumbling  at  the  handle  of  his 
door,  which  was  not  locked.  He  sat  up  in  bed  and 
called  out,  "Who  is  it?" 

There  was  a  full  moon  riding  in  a  clear,  frosty  sky, 
and  the  room  was  only  in  semi-darkness.  He  stared 
at  the  door,  which  at  that  moment  burst  open,  and 
standing  in  the  aperture  was  a  man,  the  dead  Laird. 
Outside,  was  a  long  corridor  with  several  windows, 
through  which  the  moonlight  poured.  Against  this 
silvery  background  stood  the  huge  figure  of  the  late 
Laird.  He  leaned  forward,  supporting  himself  by 
holding  with  both  hands  to  the  framework  of  the  door, 
and  with  a  glowering,  half-drunken  stare  his  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  startled  occupant  of  the  bed. 

A  panic  seized  our  friend,  who  felt  that  if  that 
menacing  figure  advanced  into  the  room  he  would  go 
mad.  There  was  only  one  door,  and  no  other  means 
of  escape,  and  very  stealthily  he  slid  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  bed,  and  reaching  out,  seized  the  water- 
bottle  on  his  washstand. 


THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE     85 

This  action  did  not  pass  unnoticed  by  his  terrible 
visitor.  Suddenly  relaxing  his  hold  on  the  doorposts, 
he  dropped  down  on  his  knees,  and  began  rapidly 
crawling  on  all  fours  towards  the  bed,  his  inflamed 
eyes  blazing  with  anger. 

Our  friend  did  not  wait  for  his  arrival.  With  a 
blood-curdling  yell  he  hurled  the  water-bottle  full  at 
his  old  friend,  and  leaping  from  the  other  side  of  the 
bed  tore  to  the  door  and  fled  down  the  passage,  as  if 
pursued  by  a  pack  of  devils.  Hardly  knowing  what 
he  did,  he  battered  with  his  hands  on  the  door  of  the 
room  he  knew  to  be  occupied  by  his  host  and  hostess, 
shouting  out  at  the  same  time  a  call  for  assistance. 
Then  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  wife  saying  to  the 
husband,  "  It's  Charlie.  Open  the  door.  I  believe 
he's  seen  poor  Angus." 

He  had  indeed  seen  "  poor  Angus,"  and  for  the  last 
time,  he  assured  us.  Old  friendship  could  not  stand 
the  test  of  so  horrible  an  apparition.  The  room  was 
empty  when  he  returned  to  it  with  his  host.  Angus 
had  gone  back  again  to  the  land  of  the  shadows,  and 
only  the  scattered  fragments  of  the  water-bottle  re- 
mained as  a  souvenir  of  his  visit. 

Several  servants  had  seen  Angus,  and  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  keep  the  house  staffed.  One  old  housemaid, 
who  had  been  in  the  family  many  years,  had  seen  him 
frequently,  and  had  even  ventured  to  remonstrate 
with  her  former  master,  bidding  him  go  back  to  his 
shroud  and  sleep  peacefully  in  his  grave  like  a  re- 
spectable man,  but  apparently  to  no  purpose.  Angus 
preferred  to  "  walk  "  and  to  terrify  all  to  whom  he 
had  the  power  to  show  himself. 

Speaking  of  the  Duke  of  Argyll  has  reminded  me 
of  some  curious  occurrences  in  connection  with  Lord 


86  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Colin  Campbell.  At  one  time  of  my  life,  soon  after 
my  father's  death,  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  him.  He  was 
then  studying  law  and  intended  later  to  practice  in 
India.  This  plan  he  carried  out,  and  in  India  he 
died,  the  result  of  a  chill. 

Lord  Colin  was  a  very  interesting  man,  a  keen 
geologist  and  something  of  an  artist.  There  were 
few  subjects  he  was  not  interested  in,  and  though 
somewhat  shy  of  the  subject,  he  had  a  decided  apti- 
tude for  ghosts. 

One  day  in  London  he  brought  to  my  house  a  small 
gold  cross  fixed  to  a  slab  of  gray  marble,  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  keep  it  for  him.  He  explained  that  it 
was  an  exact  reproduction  of  the  old  stone  cross  of 
Inverary.  He  was  then  living  in  Argyll  Lodge, 
Campden  Hill,  and  I  said  I  should  have  thought  there 
was  room  enough  for  it  there.  I  could  not  under- 
stand why  he  brought  it  to  me.  He  looked  uneasy 
and  said  he  wished  to  get  rid  of  it  out  of  the  house. 
When  pressed  to  say  why,  he  confessed  that  there  was 
something  uncanny  about  it.  He  thought  it  made  him 
"  see  things,"  and  he  added,  "  Garry  hates  it." 

Garry  was  a  fine,  sable  collie,  devoted  to  his  master 
and  he  to  it.  Garry  had  the  misfortune  to  break  his 
leg,  and  this  caused  Lord  Colin  acute  distress.  The 
leg  was  set,  and  the  dog  lay  in  a  large  clothes  basket, 
and  eventually  got  well.  Garry  was  just  recovering 
when  Lord  Colin  brought  me  the  cross. 

He  became  more  expansive  in  a  few  moments,  and 
said  that  he  had  seen  a  figure  bending  over  the  cross, 
as  if  to  examine  it.  The  figure  had  a  hood,  and  he 
thought  it  must  be  the  ghost  of  a  monk.  He  had  seen 
this  many  times,  and  Garry  often  growled,  and  his  hair 
bristled  at  the  very  moment  when  his  master  caught 


THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE     87 

sight  of  the  apparition.  Anything  that  distressed  the 
dog  must  be  removed,  and  knowing  how  interested 
I  was  in  ghosts  he  had  brought  the  cross  to  me. 

Of  course  I  was  delighted  to  have  a  chance  of  wit- 
nessing psychic  phenomena  of  any  kind,  but  alas, 
though  I  kept  the  cross  for  years,  and  only  sent  it 
lately  to  the  present  Duke,  I  never  saw  anything  in 
connection  with  it. 

I  did,  however,  see  something  interesting  in  con- 
nection with  Lord  Colin. 

One  hot  June  evening,  in  London,  I  was  sitting 
alone  by  the  open  window.  The  day  had  been  very 
exhausting;  it  was  one  of  those  hot  spells  that  come 
so  often  before  regular  summer  sets  in,  and  I  was  glad 
to  rest  quietly  and  do  nothing. 

The  street  was  wonderfully  quiet  at  that  hour,  nine 
o'clock,  when  all  the  world  of  fashion  was  dining, 
and  the  daylight  was  strong  enough  to  read  by,  had 
I  so  desired.  Suddenly  my  attention  was  attracted 
by  a  slight  noise  behind  me,  and  glancing  round  at 
the  open  door  I  saw  that  Lord  Colin  and  his  dog  had 
just  entered  the  room,  as  was  their  habit,  unannounced. 
In  his  hand  he  carried  a  huge  bunch  of  white  and 
mauve  lilac  blossoms.  I  had  not  expected  him  that 
evening,  but  I  was  very  pleased  to  see  him,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  Why,  Colin,  what  a  glorious  bouquet !  I 
can  smell  it  already." 

He  was  smiling  as  he  and  his  dog  moved  up  the 
long  room  towards  me,  but  he  said  nothing.  I  had 
risen  and  held  out  my  hand,  but  when  about  halfway 
across  the  floor  both  he  and  the  dog  vanished  entirely 
and  quite  suddenly. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  utter  amazement  and  con- 
sternation. I  could  not  disbelieve  the  evidence  of  my 


88  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

own  senses,  for  I  was  absolutely  certain  I  could  still 
smell  the  lilac,  and  I  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  I 
had  seen  Lord  Colin  and  his  dog. 

I  sat  down  again  and  fell  to  considering  the  extra- 
ordinary circumstance.  I  was  perfectly  well  and  nor- 
mal, I  had  not  been  thinking  of  Lord  Colin,  and  yet 
in  the  midst  of  other  thoughts  a  sound  had  attracted 
my  attention,  and  looking  round  I  had  seen  him  enter 
with  his  dog.  For  the  space  of  quite  two  minutes 
both  had  been  visible.  I  got  up  again  and  timed  the 
whole  affair  by  my  wrist  watch.  The  room  I  sat  in 
was  very  long.  I  was  at  one  end,  and  the  door  at  the 
other.  It  took  me  just  one  minute  to  walk  leisurely 
forward  over  the  ground  they  had  covered,  before  they 
vanished  from  my  sight. 

I  sat  down  again  and  began  to  wonder  if  Lord  Colin 
was  ill,  or  was  he  dead,  and  why  was  he  carrying  lilacs  ? 
'Phones  were  uncommon  things  in  those  days;  I  had 
no  means  of  communication  with  Argyll  Lodge. 

For  an  hour  I  sat  considering  the  wonderful  vivid- 
ness of  my  curious  experience.  The  daylight  had 
faded  into  a  close,  soft  twilight,  but  I  wanted  no  ar- 
tificial light.  Then  just  as  ten  o'clock  was  striking  I 
heard  a  voice  in  the  hall  below ;  a  voice  I  was  sure  was 
Lord  Colin's,  and  he  was  answered  by  one  of  my 
servants.  Steps  sounded  on  the  stairs,  and  in  another 
moment  in  he  walked  with  Garry,  and  in  his  hand  he 
carried  a  big  bunch  of  white  and  mauve  lilacs. 

I  stood  staring  at  him  in  the  dim  twilight.  Was 
this  the  real  man  and  dog  at  last  ? 

"  I  know  it's  awfully  late  to  pay  a  call,  but  I  thought 
you  would  like  some  lilac,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  it's  so 
lovely  in  our  garden  just  now,"  and  he  held  out  the 
flowers. 


THE  GHOST  OF  PRINCE  CHARLIE     89 

I  took  them  and  bade  him  be  seated.  Garry  came 
to  me  and  rested  his  nose  on  my  lap.  For  a  moment 
I  could  not  speak. 

"  Aren't  you  well  ?  "  asked  Colin. 

Then  I  recovered  myself,  but  I  did  not  tell  him  what 
had  happened  only  an  hour  before.  As  we  talked  I 
discovered  that  he  had  intended  to  come  at  nine  o'clock, 
and  was  just  starting  when  a  relative  arrived  and  de- 
tained him. 

On  another  occasion  he  told  me  of  a  curious  dream 
he  had  as  a  boy. 

Queen  Victoria  came  to  Inverary  to  pay  a  visit  to 
the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Argyll,  Lord  Colin's  parents, 
and  it  was  arranged  that  the  young  sons  of  the  house 
should  act  as  pages  to  Her  Majesty.  The  night  of  the 
day  on  which  the  Queen  arrived,  Colin  dreamed  that 
some  one  whom  he  did  not  know  came  to  him  and  said, 
"  To-morrow  the  Queen  will  give  you  twenty  shil- 
lings." 

When  the  boy  wakened  up  in  the  morning  he  re- 
membered this  dream,  and  all  day  long  he  was  on  the 
outlook  for  its  fulfillment.  The  hours  passed,  but 
though  he  was  often  in  her  presence  and  kept  as  close 
to  her  as  he  dared,  the  Queen  never  produced  her  purse. 
Just  before  reentering  the  house  towards  evening,  she 
suddenly  turned  to  John  Brown,  her  constant  atten- 
dant, and  said  something  which  Colin  did  not  catch. 
What  was  his  joy  on  perceiving  that  surly  henchman 
extract  from  a  shabby  old  purse  a  filthy  Scotch  one 
pound  note,  which  he  handed  to  Her  Majesty. 

"  My  little  Colin,  here  is  a  present  for  you,"  said 
the  Queen,  and  making  his  best  bow  the  boy  accepted 
the  gift.  His  dream  had  come  true. 

John  Brown  was  the  terror  of  all  the  great  nobles 


90  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

whom  the  Queen  was  pleased  to  visit.  Her  Majesty 
took  him  everywhere  with  her,  and  he  was  her  closest 
attendant.  Born  of  the  humblest  Scotch  parents  on 
the  Estate  of  Balmoral,  he  died  in  the  position  of  a 
potentate  in  a  royal  residence.  His  manners  were 
terribly  rough  and  objectionable,  and  his  behavior  to 
the  gentlemen  with  whom  he  constantly  came  into  con- 
tact was  insulting  to  the  last  degree.  He  had  one 
invariable  habit.  When  the  Queen  paid  a  visit  natu- 
rally her  honored  host  was  in  waiting  to  hand  her  out 
of  her  carriage.  Brown  contrived  to  nip  down  from 
his  perch  at  the  back  of  the  carriage,  just  at  a  certain 
moment,  and  with  a  violent  push  thrust  aside  the 
prince,  duke  or  peer  who  sought  to  do  honor  to  the 
Sovereign. 

Some  of  the  gentlemen  about  the  Court  paid  him 
very  liberally,  not  for  civility,  but  simply  to  desist  from 
his  habitual  insults,  and  it  has  been  said  that  Disraeli 
discovered  some  method  of  conciliation,  but  Brown 
took  an  absolute  pleasure  in  insulting  all  who  had 
occasion  to  approach  Her  Majesty.  Latterly  he  drank 
very  heavily,  and  when  he  died,  to  the  unutterable 
relief  of  all  and  sundry  he  bequeathed  all  his  savings 
and  possessions,  even  the  watch  he  wore,  to  Her  Ma- 
jesty. His  many  poor  relatives  living  in  cottages  on 
the  estate  never  saw  a  penny  of  his  money,  nor  so  much 
as  a  button  from  his  doublet. 


CHAPTER  VII 

PILGRIMS   AND   STRANGERS 

WE  are  all  of  us,  in  this  world,  strangers  and 
pilgrims,  and  to  each  human  being,  in  turn, 
and  in  varied  ways,  comes  the  knowledge, 
"  A  stranger  with  Thee  and  a  sojourner  as  all  my 
Fathers  were." 

Like  ships  that  pass  in  the  night  "  we  exchange 
signals  with  one  another,"  and  pass  on  our  different 
ways  through  the  ocean  of  life.  I  think  it  is  the  sea 
that  most  clearly  'brings  home  to  me  the  transitory 
nature  of  our  pilgrimage.  Leaning  over  the  side  of 
a  ship  in  mid  ocean,  and  watching  a  trail  of  smoke 
from  another  ship  on  the  horizon,  I  am  always  im- 
pelled to  wonder  about  its  human  cargo.  Who  and 
what  are  they,  and  for  what  distant  shores  are  they 
bound?  Again  one  sweeps  the  far  horizons  only  to 
find  them  empty  of  aught  but  a  vast  tumbling  ex- 
panse of  waters.  Then,  without  warning,  we  are 
wrapped  in  a  dense  blanket  of  fog.  The  sirens  sound 
insistently,  and  are  at  once  answered  by  ships  on  every 
side.  It  is  startling  to  find  there  are  many  so  near, 
but  utterly  invisible.  In  a  few  minutes  we  have 
emerged  again  into  distance  and  clear  skies,  and  again 
there  is  nothing  that  meets  the  eye  but  the  empty 
watery  expanse. 

Looking  back  on  my  life  I  can  recall  many  meetings 
with  fellow  pilgrims  that  apparently  were  purely  acci- 

91 


92  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

dental,  yet  they  left  their  mark  upon  my  life.  Meet- 
ings such  as  those,  when  two  souls  thrown  together  by 
the  force  of  circumstances,  in  quiet  far-away  places; 
or  in  the  marts  of  the  world,  become  in  a  few  short 
hours  like  old  and  tried  friends.  How  often  have  I 
heard  it  said,  even  after  one  short  hour,  "  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  known  you  all  my  life."  Such  I  look  upon  as 
epochs  in  my  pilgrimage,  milestones  and  guiding  stars 
on  my  life's  road.  Yet  the  limitations  of  such  epochs 
are  obvious  enough.  Time  on  earth  is  circumscribed, 
still  there  is  subconsciously  the  instant  recognition  of 
two  kindred  souls  who  hear  and  remember,  who  in- 
stinctively know  that  once,  perchance  many  times  be- 
fore, they  have  landed  together  on  the  shores  of  time, 
from  the  storm-tossed  bark  of  life. 

It  seems  strange  that  those  chance  meetings  should 
have  no  continuity.  I  remember  one  such  meeting  in 
the  East,  and  how  utterly  by  chance  it  seemed  to  come 
about.  It  lasted  for  three  days,  yet  after  three  hours 
I  knew  more  of  my  fellow  pilgrim  and  he  of  me 
than  we  would  have  known  of  each  other  in  three 
months  at  home.  We  were  both  quite  alone,  but  I 
remember  his  recalling  the  pre-Buddha  words  written 
a  thousand  years  before  the  coming  of  the  Christ : 
"  Thou  shalt  not  separate  thy  Being  from  Being,  and 
the  rest,  but  merge  the  ocean  in  the  drop,  the  drop 
within  the  ocean.  So  shalt  thou  be  in  full  accord 
with  all  that  lives,  bear  love  to  men  as  though  they 
were  thy  brother  pupils,  disciples  of  one  teacher,  the 
sons  of  one  sweet  mother." 

When  we  bade  each  other  good-by  and  I  boarded 
my  ship  we  told  each  other  we  would  meet  again,  but 
instinctively  we  knew  we  never  should,  I  have  for- 
gotten his  name,  but  all  else  I  can  remember  very 


PILGRIMS  AND  STRANGERS         93 

clearly,  and  the  wonderful  comradeship  two  souls, 
drifting  together  for  a  second  in  time,  can  give  each 
other.  He  gave  me  the  sufi  mysticism  of  Omar 
Khayyam,  and  I  can  still  see  the  English  face  burnt 
dark  with  eastern  suns,  under  the  snowy  turban,  and 
the  brilliant  parrot  swinging  on  a  palm  bough  above 
his  head.  I  can  still  hear  the  low  grave  voice  reciting 
the  quatrains  of  Persia's  astronomer  poet,  written  a 
thousand  years  ago.  They  fitted  in  with  our  sur- 
roundings :  — 

"  There  was  a  door  to  which  I  found  no  key. 
There  was  a  veil  past  which  I  could  not  see ! 
Some  little  talk  awhile  of  Me  and  Thee 
There  seemed,  and  then  no  more  of  Me  and  Thee." 

I  suppose  we  all  have  many  such  recollections  in 
our  lives,  and  it  is  impossible  (for  me)  to  believe  them 
to  be  a  mere  matter  of  chance,  for,  always  on  parting, 
I  have  been  conscious  that  I  have  received  some  last- 
ing good,  or  it  has  mercifully  chanced  that  I  have 
been  able  to  help  a  stranger  and  pilgrim  on  a  difficult 
way. 

Again,  I  remember  another  interesting  meeting.  A 
woman  was  sitting  alone  on  a  bench  in  the  outskirts 
of  Cairo,  and  her  worn  face  was  turned  to  the  dying 
fires  of  sunset.  She  was  very  shabby  and  poor  look- 
ing, and  obviously  she  was  a  European.  In  my  casual 
glance  I  caught  something  familiar,  and  after  going 
on  some  paces  I  felt  a  compelling  force  bidding  me 
return.  I  sat  down  beside  her  and  at  once  spoke  to 
her.  I  knew  who  she  was  when  she  turned  her  face 
to  me,  and  the  hideous  contrast  of  her  past  and  her 
present  appalled  me.  She  does  not  know  to-day  that 
I  am  aware  of  her  real  identity.  She  is  in  England, 


94  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

and  all  now  is  well  with  her.  One  can  always,  as  the 
pre-Buddhist  taught  us,  "  Point  out  the  way  however 
dim  and  lost  amongst  the  Host,  as  does  the  evening 
star  to  those  who  tread  their  path  in  darkness." 

Again,  it  is  strange  to  tell  why  unknown  pilgrims 
should  leave  their  mark  upon  us  for  all  earthly  time, 
pilgrims  to  whom  one  has  never  spoken,  and  of  whom 
one  knows  nothing.  When  I  was  quite  a  child  I 
passed  every  day  through  a  very  quiet  and  well-to-do 
street  of  dwelling-houses.  At  a  window  behind  two 
flower-pots,  sat  a  woman  whom  I  supposed  to  be  sew- 
ing, though  her  hands  were  hidden  from  view.  I  can 
see  her  as  clearly  now  as  I  saw  her  then,  over  forty 
years  ago  in  the  northern  capital.  The  pale,  tragic 
profile,  the  down-drooped  eyelids,  the  meekly-banded 
hair.  I  used  to  wonder  about  her  constantly.  She 
possessed  me,  and  interested  me  at  that  time  more 
than  anything  else  in  my  life.  Even  to  this  day  she 
comes  unbidden  into  my  mind  at  frequent  intervals. 

Again  from  my  bedroom  window  in  Belgrade  I 
used  to  watch  another  woman.  She  came  out  on  her 
balcony  twice  a  day,  always  at  the  same  hours.  She 
put  her  hands  on  the  rails,  and  turned  her  dark, 
southern  face  up  to  the  skies,  and  there  she  would 
stand  for  an  hour,  gazing  fixedly  above.  I  never  once 
saw  her  eyes  drop  to  the  busy  street  below,  and  once 
a  prisoner,  dragging  his  heavy  chains  behind  him, 
paused  and  looked  up  and  cried  out  to  her  for  bread. 
She  appeared  not  to  hear  him,  her  rigid  attitude  never 
relaxed. 

It  is  the  thoughts  of  such  pilgrims,  as  one  conjec- 
tures them  to  be,  that  form  the  interest,  or  perhaps 
it  really  is  something  more,  a  far-off  kinship,  stretch- 
ing invisible  threads  down  through  the  ages.  With 


PILGRIMS  AND  STRANGERS         95 

both  those  women  I  had  a  feeling  of  kinship.  I  had 
picked  them  out  of  the  world's  crowd,  because  of  some 
silent  influence  they  exerted  over  me,  the  lingering 
power  of  some  far  back,  forgotten  touch,  which  had 
once  drawn  us  together.  I  know  that  in  my  life  I  had 
met  those  "  that  I  have  loved  long  since  and  lost 
awhile." 

For  me  there  was  purpose  in  those  "  stars  "  that 
shine  through  my  life,  as  looking  back  they  show  me 
where  I  had  arrived  at  the  moment  of  their  uprising, 
and  their  rays  pierce  the  penumbra  shadows  wherein 
the  soul  lies  hid.  Each  star  showed  me  the  lees  in 
the  cup  of  destiny,  brought  to  me  a  new  revelation  of 
soul,  and  elucidated  for  me  something  of  the  mystery 
of  life. 

Again,  surely  there  is  Divine  purpose  in  those  islets 
of  friendship  which  jewel-like  stud  the  gray  vesture  of 
ordinary  existence.  They  are  close,  warm,  and  utterly 
sincere,  often  for  many  long  ,years,  then  they  are 
suddenly  sundered  by  the  inrush  of  some  invading 
force  which  cuts  them  off  in  their  full  bloom.  Some- 
times the  Master  Death  bids  them  pass  on,  sometimes 
the  break  comes  by  some  utterly  trivial,  yet  inexorable 
fiat  of  human  destiny. 

In  the  clash  of  human  interests  it  must  needs  be 
that  pain  must  come  to  some.  Life  cannot  be  all 
serenity  and  peace  to  the  pilgrims  who  toil  upon  its 
stormy  way,  its  via  dolorosa.  Such  crises  teach  us  the 
just  attitude  that  should  prevail  in  all  such  trials  and 
circumstances.  Amiel  says,  "  There  is  one  wrong  man 
is  not  bound  to  punish,  that  of  which  he  himself  is  the 
victim.  Such  a  wrong  is  to  be  healed,  not  avenged." 
For  hate  there  is  but  one  antidote  —  love.  The  art  of 
forgetfulness  is  not  yet  a  science,  but  to  forget  the  evil 


96  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

one  has  but  to  remember  the  good.  Love  knows 
neither  saint  nor  sinner,  for  she  seeks  in  every  heart 
the  hidden  gem  of  good.  She  thinks  no  ill,  because 
she  knows  the  trials  of  each  one  are  penalty  enough 
for  deeds  already  done.  Neither  in  the  case  of  Death's 
intervention,  nor  in  the  case  of  human  misunderstand- 
ing should  there  be  sorrow  for  lost  friendships,  though 
there  must  inevitably  be  regret. 

Love  brings  with  it  suffering,  for  all  who  love  suffer 
with  those  they  love.  Unkindness  and  injustices  are 
hard  to  bear,  and  the  loss  of  those  we  love  is  a  bitter 
pain,  but  those  whose  hearts  are  great  enough  still 
find  others  on  whom  to  lavish  love.  Are  there  not 
many  who  need  it,  and  are  there  not  great  rewards 
for  those  who  have  love  to  spare.  To  be  required,  to 
be  appealed  to,  and  turned  to  as  a  help  and  refuge. 
Such  are  the  prizes  for  those  whose  hearts  are  al- 
ways alight  with  love,  who  from  one  flame  can  kindle 
many. 

When  death  looses  the  silver  cord,  and  souls  seem 
torn  asunder  for  ever  more,  there  will  be  sadness  of 
spirit.  When  a  break  comes,  perhaps  through  third- 
party  treachery,  there  may  come  the  sense  of  eternal 
severance,  but  is  it  eternal?  I  doubt  it.  More  prob- 
ably there  lies  before  us  an  existence  of  clearer  judg- 
ment and  understanding,  of  vaster  possibilities,  in 
which  we  shall  know,  even  as  also  we  are  known. 
Though  now  we  see  each  other  through  a  glass  darkly, 
a  day  will  come  when  we  shall  no  longer  see  in  part, 
but  face  to  face.  When  faith,  hope  and  love  shall  be 
reunited,  and  we  shall  realize  that  the  greatest  of  these 
three  is  love,  which  suffereth  long,  and  is  kind  and 
thinketh  no  evil. 

Again,  there  are  these  loves  in  one's  life,  some 


PILGRIMS  AND  STRANGERS         97 

fleeting,  some  lasting,  that  are  too  sacred  to  write  of, 
and  of  which  one  never  speaks.  The  joys  and  sorrows 
they  brought,  the  prose  or  poesy  of  our  intercourse 
are  graven  deep  on  the  heart.  Whether  it  be  they 
still  walk  by  our  side,  or  have  gone  west  to  rest  after 
labor,  we  must  learn  to  say  with  the  pre-Buddhists 
of  old  time :  "  Do  not  grieve  for  the  living  or  the  dead. 
Never  did  I  not  exist  for  you  .  .  .  nor  will  any  one 
of  us  ever  hereafter  cease  to  be." 

Such  sacramental  hours  sanctify  the  variety  of  our 
lot,  combine  the  pathos  of  love  and  death,  and  stretch 
through  the  corridors  of  memory  into  the  hush  and 
shadow  of  the  haunted  past;  where  all  the  mystery 
of  such  hours  seem  gathered  for  inspiration.  There 
linger  the  symbols  of  our  sojourn  here.  How  potent, 
yet  how  fragmentary  they  are !  The  scent  of  a  flower, 
the  long  embrace,  the  hand  held  out  in  vain,  the  flash 
of  recognition,  the  chime  of  the  clock  which  altered 
the  course  of  the  pilgrimage.  The  meek  hands  folded 
on  the  still  breast.  Such  symbols  abide  with  us  like 
the  image  of  a  Divine  form,  some  echo  of  immortal 
music,  some  lingering  word  of  angels.  Their  cadences 
come  ever  back  to  us  from  infinite  distances,  ghostly 
chords  and  evanescent.  Harmonies  which  come  and 
go  too  fitfully  for  apprehension. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SOME  STRANGE   EVENTS 

AFTER  my  marriage  my  husband  and  I  passed 
some  time  in  the  United  States  and  Canada; 
we  then  returned  to  England  and  took  a  place 
in  Cambridgeshire.  We  were  both  very  fond  of  rac- 
ing, and  attended  all  the  meetings  at  Newmarket. 

One  day  I  drove  by  appointment  to  the  house  of  a 
neighbor  who  had  asked  me  to  meet  Miss  Catherine 
Bates,  author  of  that  interesting  book,  "  Seen  and  Un- 
seen." 

Just  before  I  started  my  husband,  half  in  fun,  and 
knowing  Miss  Bates  to  be  a  psychic,  said,  "  Ask  her 
what  horse  is  going  to  win  the  Cambridgeshire." 

I  promised  to  put  the  question  and  drove  off.  I 
had  a  most  interesting  visit,  but  I  totally  forgot  to  ask 
Miss  Bates  for  the  winner  of  the  coming  race. 

It  was  not  until  I  was  seated  in  the  victoria,  ex- 
changing a  few  parting  words  with  the  two  ladies 
standing  in  the  doorway  to  bid  me  good-by,  that  I 
suddenly  recollected  my  husband's  request.  As  the 
horses  were  starting  I  called  out  to  Miss  Bates  — 

"  Tell  me  what's  going  to  win  '  The  Cambridge- 
shire?'" 

The  answer  was  prompt  and  clear : 

"  Marco  to  win,  for  a  place."  (I  regret  I 

cannot  remember  the  name  of  the  second  horse.) 

As  I  drove  away  I  waved  my  thanks,  and  directly 

98 


SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS  99 

I  got  home  I  told  my  husband  — "  Marco  to  win, 

for  a  place." 

He  was  much  interested  in  this  "  tip  "  from  so  well- 
known  a  psychic,  and  of  course  we  backed  "  Marco 

to  win  and for  a  place  "  for  all  we  were  worth. 

I  wish  I  could  remember  the  odds.     I  only  know  that 
they  were  "  long." 

The  event  duly  came  off,  and  I  wrote  to  Miss  Bates 
thanking  her  for  the  good  turn  she  had  done  us. 

Her  reply  astounded  me. 

She  began  by  saying  she  had  not  heard  me  put  any 
question  to  her  regarding  the  winner  of  the  Cambridge- 
shire, and  went  on  to  say  that  she  knew  nothing  about 
racing,  and  knew  none  of  the  horses'  names,  therefore 
it  was  impossible  that  she  could  have  given  me  the 
"  tip." 

Her  hostess  cared  nothing  for  racing,  and  was  as 
ignorant  as  she  was  upon  the  subject,  but  she  did 
remember  hearing  me  call  out  to  Miss  Bates,  "  What's 
going  to  win  the  Cambridgeshire  ?  " 

I  then  questioned  our  coachman  and  footman. 
Both  distinctly  remembered  my  calling  out  the  ques- 
tion, and  both,  keen  on  racing,  listened  for  the  reply, 
'but  they  heard  none. 

Where  did  that  answer  come  from?  I  cannot  tell. 
Was  some  spirit  interested  in  racing  hovering  near? 
Did  he  contrive  to  drop  the  "  tip  "  into  my  mind,  open 
at  that  moment  and  eager  to  catch  the  response? 

A  year  after  the  event  I  have  recounted  above,  I  was 
resting  one  afternoon  in  the  summer-time.  I  had  been 
ill,  and  was  not  yet  strong  enough  to  lead  an  ordinary 
life,  and  I  was  lying  on  a  sofa  in  a  top  floor  room. 
The  room  immediately  beneath  me  was  the  drawing- 
room,  and  the  weather  being  hot  all  the  windows  were 


ioo  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

wide  open.  The  house  we  inhabited  was  quite  iso- 
lated in  its  own  park,  and  the  village  was  about  half 
a  mile  distant.  My  husband  was  from  home,  and  I 
was  alone  in  that  particular  part  of  the  house,  the 
servants'  quarters  being  at  the  back,  and  shut  off 
from  the  rest. 

Out  of  the  absolute  quiet  suddenly  came  the  sound 
of  music.  Some  one  was  playing  my  piano  in  the 
drawing-room  below.  This,  in  itself,  caused  me  irri- 
tation, but  no  surprise.  I  was  not  well  enough  to  en- 
tertain callers  at  tea,  due  in  half  an  hour,  and  I  had 
given  orders  that  I  would  see  no  one,  but  it  had  hap- 
pened before  that  the  musical  neighbors  had  called,  and 
whilst  waiting  for  me  had  sat  down  to  the  piano. 

I  was  too  annoyed  to  hasten  downstairs.  I  lay 
waiting  for  the  butler  to  come  to  me  and  inform  me 
why  my  orders  had  been  disobeyed.  Meanwhile  I 
listened  to  the  music,  and  wondered  greatly  who  the 
brilliant  pianist  could  be.  I  did  not  recognize  the 
music,  but  it  sounded  quite  modern,  and  requiring  a 
great  amount  of  technique.  The  player  was,  how- 
ever, a  most  brilliant  performer,  who  had  acquired 
considerable  skill.  "  Evidently  a  professional,"  I 
thought,  and  wondered  all  the  more  who  it  could  pos- 
sibly be. 

Still  there  were  no  signs  of  the  ascending  butler, 
and  time  continued  to  pass.  I  began  to  feel  obstinate, 
and  determined  to  remain  where  I  was,  until  I  was 
correctly  informed  of  the  caller's  identity. 

The  music  steadily  continued,  every  note  borne  to 
my  ears  as  clearly  as  if  I  had  been  in  the  room  with 
the  performer.  "Very  wonderful  music,  but  soul- 
less," I  concluded,  and  though  my  curiosity  was  grow- 


SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS  101 

ing  every  moment  my  obstinacy  prevailed,  and  I  re- 
mained where  I  was.  At  last,  after  quite  twenty  min- 
utes, the  music  suddenly  stopped;  it  broke  off  in  the 
middle  of  a  movement. 

I  rose  at  once,  and  went  downstairs  feeling  very 
cross.  I  pushed  open  the  drawing-room  door  and 
entered.  It  was  absolutely  empty,  but  the  piano, 
which  had  not  been  opened  for  several  weeks,  was  open 
now.  I  went  to  the  window  which  commanded  the 
avenue;  not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  Then  I  rang  the 
bell,  and  when  the  butler  entered  the  following  dia- 
logue took  place :  — 

"Who  was  the  caller  who  has  just  been?" 
'  There  have  been  no  callers  to-day,  madam." 
"  But  surely  you  heard  the  piano  being  played  ?  " 
"  We  heard  a  lot  of  music,  but  we  thought  it  was 
you  playing,  madam." 

"Then  you  all  heard  it?" 
"  All  of  us  in  the  hall  heard  it,  madam." 
I  left  it  at  that.     Suddenly  it  came  to  me  that  I 
had  better  not  push  my  inquiries  further.     Until  that 
second  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  that  the  performer 
might  be  a  disembodied  spirit. 

The  butler  did  not  leave  the  matter  alone,  but  made 
every  inquiry  at  the  Lodge,  and  also  of  the  out-door 
servants,  but  nothing  came  of  it.  No  one  had  seen 
a  stranger,  and  the  silver  was  intact.  My  maid  told 
me  some  time  afterwards  that  the  household  had 
shaken  down  to  the  conviction  that  I  had  really  been 
the  performer,  and  that  my  recent  illness  had  caused 
me  to  forget  the  fact.  I  let  this  conviction  remain 
unshaken,  but  I  marveled  at  the  lack  of  musical  dis- 
crimination my  household  displayed.  The  disparity 


102  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

between  my  strumming  and  the  brilliant  execution  of 
my  spirit  guest  was  so  vast  that  I  could  not  even  feel 
flattered  by  their  mistake. 

A  year  or  two  after  we  took  a  cottage  on  the 
Thames,  and  there,  during  our  summer  visits,  I  had 
an  uncomfortable  time. 

There  was  something  wrong  with  the  sideboard  end 
of  the  dining-room.  For  a  long  time  I  could  not  make 
out  what  it  was.  My  attention  was  constantly  being 
attracted  to  the  spot.  If  I  passed  the  door  I  thought 
instantly  of  the  sideboard.  In  plain  language,  I  was 
constantly  being  invited,  by  some  invisible  person,  to 
come  in  and  have  a  drink.  If  I  was  putting  anything 
away  in  the  sideboard  the  suggestion  was  always 
very  strong.  On  the  outside  stood  a  tantalus  of  spirits 
and  soda  water,  ready  to  refresh  any  calling  boating 
men.  Inside  the  cupboards  were  wine  decanters. 

I  always  resisted  the  suggestion,  I  suppose  because 
I  did  not  happen  to  want  anything  to  drink  —  for 
years  I  have  been  a  total  abstainer,  and  at  the  time  I 
certainly  did  not  realize  the  menace  of  those  sugges- 
tions. 

Now  and  again  I  caught  sight  of  a  small  oblong 
gray  cloud  hovering  in  front  of  the  sidbeoard,  but  it 
was  not  till  many  months  afterwards  that  I  saw  some- 
thing much  more  definite.  The  gray  shadow  had  be- 
come the  clearly  defined  shade  of  a  small  woman. 
She  hovered  about  the  spot  in  a  wavering,  undecided 
manner.  It  was  apparent  that  she  was  seeking  some- 
thing. One  day,  in  a  flash,  I  recognized  the  truth, 
The  suggestion  came  from  her.  She  was  inviting  me 
to  drink  with  her. 

My  husband  and  I  set  to  work  to  find  out  who  this 
unfortunate  woman  had  been  when  she  dwelt  on  earth. 


SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS  103 

We  discovered  a  very  sad  story.  She  had  been  a 
celebrity  of  the  half  world,  and  I  had  actually  seen 
her  in  the  flesh.  She  had  traveled  to  Monte  Carlo 
one  winter  in  the  next  sleeping  compartment  to  ours, 
and  she  had  lived  for  some  years  in  our  riverside 
cottage.  Latterly  she  had  fallen  an  incurable  victim 
to  drinking,  and  had  died  of  it.  Poor  little  soul;  my 
heart  went  out  to  her  in  deepest  pity,  but  I  was  glad 
to  leave  the  cottage  forever,  when  in  1898  we  went  to 
live  at  my  husband's  place,  Balquholly,  Aberdeen- 
shire. 

Some  people,  perhaps  once  in  their  lives,  become 
sensitive  enough  to  recognize  a  visitor  from  the  Astral 
plane.  If  the  occasion  is  not  repeated  they  believe 
themselves  to  have  been  victims  of  hallucinations. 
Others  find  themselves  seeing  and  hearing,  with  in- 
creasing frequency,  something  to  which  those  around 
them  are  blind  and  deaf.  They  realize,  in  fact,  that 
they  are  in  touch  with  the  Astral  plane,  the  region 
lying  next  to  our  world  of  dense  matter,  and  often 
some  Astral  entity  on  the  lowest  levels  of  that  plane 
is  continuously  striving  to  work  through  their  medium- 
ship.  The  world  is  very  far  from  realizing  this 
danger.  What  are  those  entities  working  for? 

The  man  or  woman  who  has  led  a  decently  pure 
life  on  earth  will  have  no  attraction  to  the  lowest 
levels,  contiguous  with  earth,  of  the  Astral  plane,  and 
will,  at  so-called  death,  pass  swiftly  through  it.  But, 
alas !  the  vast  majority  have  by  no  means  freed  them- 
selves from  all  lower  desires  before  passing  over,  and 
it  takes  a  considerable  time  before  the  evil  forces  gen- 
erated on  earth  work  themselves  out  on  "  the  other 
side." 

The  length  of  man's  detention  on  the  lower  level 


104  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

will  depend  entirely  on  the  earthly  life  he  has  lived, 
and  the  quality  of  the  desires  he  has  indulged  in. 

The  desires  of  a  drunkard,  a  debaucher,  are  as  strong 
after  death  as  before.  The  present  Bishop  of  London 
made  that  very  clear  in  one  of  his  Easter  addresses, 
but  the  subject  finds  it  impossible,  without  a  physical 
body,  to  gratify  his  lusts.  Occasionally  it  can  be  done 
in  a  vicarious  manner,  when  he  is  able  to  seize  on  a 
like  minded  person  and  obsess  him  or  her,  or  when  he 
finds  a  medium  who  consciously  or  unconsciously  pan- 
ders to  his  desires.  For  this  reason  I  hold  it  to  be 
imperative  for  safety's  sake,  that  every  genuine  me- 
dium should  be  a  total  abstainer. 

How  often  one  is  asked  the  question :  "  What  is  a 
medium  ?  " 

It  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer  in  a  few  words. 
I  should  put  it  thus  — 

A  medium  is  one  whose  principles,  physical,  mental, 
spiritual,  are  so  loosely  bound  together  that  an  Astral 
entity  can  draw  from  him  without  difficulty  the  mat- 
ter it  requires  for  manifestation.  The  very  essence 
of  mediumship  is  the  ready  separability  of  the  prin- 
ciples. 

In  the  case  of  the  poor  little  woman  I  have  men- 
tioned, she  was  fortunate  enough  not  to  meet  with 
(in  me)  a  sensitive,  through  whom  her  passion  could 
be  vicariously  gratified. 

Such  unfulfilled  desires  gradually  burn  themselves 
out,  and  the  suffering  caused  in  the  process  no  doubt 
goes  to  work  off  evil  Karma  generated  in  the  past  life. 
It  is  the  soul  that  desires,  the  body  is  but  the  tool  to 
grasp  the  desire,  and  after  death  old  lusts  crowd  upon 
the  departed.  Thirsty  with  no  throat;  sensual  with 


SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS  105 

no  body  to  grip  the  foul  desire,  soon  it  is  learned  that 
the  worst  evils  and  the  hardest  to  undo  have  been 
woven  out  of  the  mind. 

Here  is  another  story  or  two  relating  to  one  of  the 
most  puzzling  mysteries  in  ghost  lore  —  the  phenom- 
ena of  temporary  hauntings. 

Why  do  ghosts  suddenly  take  possession  of  a  house 
with  which,  in  their  incarnate  days,  they  have  had  no 
connection  ? 

Such  ghosts  differ  from  those  only  seen  once.  They 
take  up  their  abode  in  a  dwelling  which  has  absolutely 
no  traditions  of  haunting.  They  will  be  seen  and 
heard  on  many  occasions,  for  a  few  months,  possibly 
for  a  few  years.  They  will  then  suddenly  depart, 
and  be  seen  or  heard  no  more. 

Such  apparitions  cannot  readily  be  traced  to  any 
defunct  friend  or  member  of  the  family.  They  have 
no  known  connection  with  the  house  in  which  they 
appear,  and  no  one  can  form  the  faintest  conception 
why  they  should  suddenly  elect  to  "  walk "  within 
those  four  walls,  which  hitherto  have  been  normal  and 
free  from  "  other  side  "  visitors. 

A  case  of  this  description  happened  to  my  youngest 
brother,  who,  before  he  bought  his  present  country 
house,  lived  in  a  detached,  new  building,  not  far  from 
the  Dean  Bridge,  in  Edinburgh. 

He  had  occupied  this  house  for  some  years  previous 
to  his  experience,  and  had  neither  heard  nor  seen 
anything  of  a  spooky  nature.  The  manifestation  only 
lasted  for  a  few  weeks.  Nothing  in  the  form  of  a 
ghost  was  seen,  but  much  was  heard. 

I  will  give  the  story  in  my  brother's  own  words: 


106  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

"  On  a  certain  evening,  a  year  or  two  ago,  I  went 
out  after  dinner  to  visit  some  friends,  and  returned 
home  about  half-past  eleven. 

"  Not  feeling  inclined  to  go  to  bed,  I  took  up  a 
book  and  sat  down  to  read  for  half  an  hour. 

"  About  a  quarter-past  midnight  I  suddenly  became 
aware  that  stealthy  footsteps  were  coming  upstairs. 
Looking  at  my  watch  I  thought  it  very  strange  that 
any  of  the  maids  should  be  still  up  at  such  a  late 
hour. 

"  The  door  was  well  ajar,  and  I  arose  from  my 
chair,  listening  intently,  as  I  crossed  the  room.  The 
footsteps  were  now  quite  distinct,  and  I  knew  at  once 
they  were  not  those  of  any  woman.  They  were  the 
stealthy  footsteps  of  a  man,  and  naturally  I  at  once 
concluded  that  he  was  a  burglar. 

"  I  calculated  swiftly  that  he  would  either  enter  the 
room  in  which  I  stood,  or  he  would  go  on  and  up  the 
next  flight  of  stairs  to  the  bedrooms.  In  any  case,  he 
had  to  be  faced  and  caught.  I  realized  that,  and  I 
much  regretted  I  had  nothing  at  hand  which  would 
help  me,  should  he  prove  to  be  armed. 

"  There  was,  however,  no  time  for  further  thought. 
Every  second  brought  him  nearer,  and  taking  up  a 
position  just  behind  the  door,  I  waited  till  he  arrived 
on  the  landing,  and  until  he  came  to  the  spot  when 
he  must  either  turn  in,  or  go  on  upstairs. 

"  The  moment  came,  almost  at  once.  With  a  sud- 
den bound  I  sprang  out  to  close  with  him.  Lo!  and 
behold!  nothing  was  to  be  seen!  Nothing  was  now 
to  be  heard,  except  the  ticking  of  a  clock. 

"  I  stood  still  and  absolutely  astounded.  The  foot- 
steps had  been  no  trick  of  imagination,  I  was  very 
sure  of  that.  Had  I  not  heard  them  stealthily  begin- 


SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS  107 

ning  the  ascent  of  the  stairs,  and  grow  louder  the 
nearer  they  approached  me? 

"  I  mopped  my  brow.  Would  any  self-respecting 
burglar  have  come  on,  and  up  a  lighted  staircase,  and 
along  a  landing  towards  a  room  which  he  must  have 
known  was  still  occupied,  as  the  light  shone  through 
the  half-open  door?  Are  burglars  ever  as  rash  as 
that? 

"  Then  I  reminded  myself  that  as  there  was  no 
burglar  in  the  case  my  speculations  were  mere  waste 
of  time. 

"  I  put  out  the  lights,  and  went  to  bed  in  a  very 
uncomfortable  frame  of  mind. 

"  The  next  day,  when  I  returned  home  from  busi- 
ness, my  housekeeper  informed  me  that  a  strange  man 
had  been  walking  about  the  house.  She  had  not  seen 
him,  though  she  had  looked  for  him  —  that  was  the 
curious  part  of  it,  but  she  had  heard  him  quite  dis- 
tinctly, several  times,  and  she  didn't  like  it  one  little 
bit.  Not  that  she  was  frightened !  Oh !  dear  no,  but 
it  was  uncanny,  and  she  thought  she  had  better  tell 
me.  I  thanked  her  and  assured  her  that  there  was 
nothing  to  fear.  The  house  was  quite  new,  and  un- 
canny things  never  happen  in  new  houses.  I  advised 
her  not  to  mention  the  subject  to  any  one  but  me,  and 
told  her  that  I  was  not  going  out  again  that  evening. 

"  After  dinner  I  settled  down  in  my  room,  to  wait 
for  the  footsteps  I  instinctively  felt  sure  would  return. 
I  kept  the  lights  burning  on  stairs  and  landing,  and  set 
the  door  half  open,  placing  my  chair  in  such  a  position 
that  I  could  see  any  one  who  passed  outside  the  room 
on  the  landing.  This  time  I  did  not  think  of  arming 
myself.  I  had  come  to  the  firm  conclusion  that  the 
sounds  came  from  no  person  living  in  the  flesh.  As 


io8  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

no  house  adjoined  mine  I  had  no  '  next  door '  on 
which  to  lay  the  blame  for  the  disturbance. 

"  Sure  enough,  about  an  hour  earlier  this  time,  the 
unknown,  unseen  visitor  began  his  ascent  of  my  stair- 
case. I  cannot  describe  my  feelings  during  those 
moments  of  waiting  for  '  it '  to  pass.  I  can  only  say 
they  were  intensely  (unpleasant,  and  I  hope  I  may 
never  again  have  to  confess  myself  to  be  a  wretched 
coward.  A  burglar  would  at  that  moment  have  ap- 
peared to  me  in  the  guise  of  a  dear  friend. 

"  However,  the  thing  had  to  be  faced,  there  was  no 
one  else  that  I  could  put  onto  the  job,  and  so  I  simply 
sat  still  and  waited,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  landing 
outside.  The  steps  came  on,  distinct  enough,  and 
growing  nearer  and  louder.  They  arrived  on  the 
landing,  they  reached  my  door,  they  passed,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  mount  the  next  flight  of  steps  to  the  bed- 
rooms. I  had  seen  absolutely  nothing. 

"  I  rose  and  walked  out  on  to  the  landing,  and  looked 
up  at  the  brightly  lit  staircase.  I  could  mark,  by  the 
sound,  the  progress  made  by  those  invisible  feet. 
They  passed  on  to  the  bedroom  floor,  and  with  heart- 
felt gratitude  I  heard  them  enter,  not  mine,  but  an 
empty  room.  I  heard  nothing  more  that  night.  Pre- 
sumably the  ghost  remained  quietly  in  his  comfortable 
quarters. 

"  The  next  day  came  more  complaints  from  the 
housekeeper.  The  '  strange  man '  not  only  prome- 
naded the  house  at  intervals,  but  he  had  the  imperti- 
nence to  ring  several  bells.  I  wondered  if  a  whisky 
and  soda  left  casually  on  his  dressing-table  would  ap- 
pease his  thirst  for  summoning  the  servants  in  this 
irritating  fashion. 

"  For  some  days  after  this  we  were  left  in  peace,  and 


SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS  109 

I  began  to  hope  that  *  it '  had  betaken  itself  to  the 
house  of  some  other  chap,  but  no  such  luck! 

"  One  evening  I  was  in  the  dining-room  decanting 
some  wine  before  dinner.  It  was  just  seven  o'clock, 
when  I  heard  '  its '  footsteps  again.  This  time  they 
were  coming  downstairs.  I  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  out.  There  was  no  one  to  be  seen.  I  reen- 
tered  the  dining-room  and  shut  '  it '  out.  I  suppose 
'  it '  had  been  having  a  rest  in  the  bedroom.  I  trusted 
*  it '  meant  to  have  a  night  out. 

"  A  moment  or  two  later  I  heard  a  click  near  the 
fireplace,  and  looking  towards  the  spot  whence  this 
sound  came,  I  saw  the  handle  of  the  bell  being  pulled 
back.  In  another  second  the  bell  rang. 

"  When  the  maid  answered  it  I  was  ready  for  her. 

"'Oh!  don't  you  know  what  that  is?'  I  inquired 
with  mild  sarcasm.  '  Only  mice  crossing  the  wires. 
Nothing  to  be  frightened  of  in  that,  is  there?' 

"  I  stuck  to  this  all  through  the  weeks  that  followed. 
The  maids  ceased  to  answer  the  bells,  and  went  early 
to  bed  in  a  bunch.  They  no  longer  required  rooms  to 
themselves. 

"  In  a  few  months  the  trouble  stopped  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  begun.  '  It '  had  evidently  found  other  quar- 
ters more  to  '  its '  liking.  The  mice  were  equally 
obliging.  They  ceased  running  across  the  wires." 

What  theory  will  explain  this  species  of  haunting 
which  is  quite  common?  May  it  not  be  that  this 
disembodied  entity  attached  itself  to  my  brother  whilst 
he  was  out,  and  like  a  lost  dog  followed  him  home? 
There  must  be  countless  entities  wandering  about  all 
over  this  globe,  seeking  an  abiding-place  for  their 
restless  souls.  People  who  find  themselves  as  bereft 
of  friends  on  the  other  side  of  death,  as  they  were  in 


no  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

earth  life.     Those  who  have  friends  here  have  doubt- 
less friends  there. 

In  old  days  we  used  to  think  of  a  post-mortem 
abode  as  somewhere  in  the  skies.  Some  even  men- 
tioned a  receiving  station  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
Now  I  find  that  the  majority  of  educated  people  have 
come  to  regard  so-called  death  as  merely  a  change  of 
consciousness,  and  the  immediate  post-mortem  sphere 
of  our  activities  to  be  a  region  interpenetrating  this 
earth.  / 

A  county  neighbor  of  ours  in  Aberdeenshire  told 
me  of  a  very  tantalizing  experience  he  had  a  very  few 
years  ago  of  temporary  haunting.  This  was  a  case 
of  seeing,  not  hearing. 

The  time  was  late  autumn,  and  his  family  had  gone 
south  for  the  winter,  leaving  him  alone  for  a  week  or 
two  to  finish  up  the  shooting. 

One  night,  immediately  after  he  had  dined,  he  ran 
upstairs  to  his  bedroom  to  fetch  something.  On  com- 
ing out  of  his  room  again,  what  was  his  astonishment 
to  see,  walking  in  front  of  him,  a  tall  young  lady, 
very  smartly  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  prevailing 
fashion.  She  wore  black  satin,  cut  very  low  and 
without  sleeves,  and  she  moved  very  quietly  along  the 
passage,  and  proceeded  to  go  downstairs.  She  never 
turned  her  elaborately  coiffed  head,  and  he  could  not 
see  her  face.  He  followed,  too  speechless  with  amaze- 
ment to  address  her.  Who  on  earth  could  she  be? 
Where  was  she  going?  Nine  o'clock  at  night;  only 
two  old  servants  in  the  house!  In  the  depth  of  the 
country,  and  nine  miles  away  from  anywhere!  And 
this  charming  young  lady  who  so  unexpectedly  had 
made  her  appearance  to  brighten  his  solitude! 


SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS  111 

What  a  surprising  adventure!  The  situation  was 
piquant  to  say  the  least  of  it. 

He  followed  immediately  behind  the  attractive 
vision.  He  even  wondered  what  room  he  would  have 
prepared  for  her.  So  absolutely  real  did  she  look, 
that  not  for  a  second  did  he  doubt  she  was  ordinary 
flesh  and  blood. 

When  describing  her  afterwards  to  me  he  said, 
"  I  can  assure  you  I  saw  the  actual  white  flesh  of 
her  bare  arms  and  shoulders.  I  was  close  behind 
her." 

The  lady  moved  composedly  on,  walking  with  sup- 
ple grace  and  perfect  self-possession.  She  was  not  in 
the  least  hurried  or  flustered.  She  reached  the  bot- 
tom of  the  stairs,  and  he  had  a  momentary  fear  that 
she  would  make  for  the  front  door,  where  surely 
a  Rolls  Royce  would  be  awaiting  her.  Not  so!  She 
walked  straight  into  the  dining-room.  He  followed. 

As  he  entered  the  door  she  had  gained  the  opposite 
end  of  the  room,  where  the  sideboard  stood. 

For  a  second  she  stood  still,  turned  and  glanced 
round  at  him  with  an  enchanting  smile  of  delicate 
raillery.  Then  she  deliberately  walked  through  the 
sideboard  and  wall  beyond,  and  was  lost  to  sight. 

The  beholder  of  this  ghost  had  never  seen  anything 
of  the  sort  before,  and  was,  if  anything,  a  disbeliever 
in  psychic  phenomena.  He  is  a  perfectly  healthy,  nor- 
mal country  gentleman,  whose  principal  hobby  is  sport, 
and  who  prefers  a  country  life  out  of  doors  to  the  life 
of  an  intellectual  student. 

Needless  to  say  the  occurrence  puzzled  him  beyond 
measure.  He  could  not  "  place  "  the  lady,  and  was 
certain  that  he  had  never  seen  her  before.  Her  dress 
proclaimed  her  to  be  absolutely  modern. 


112  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Though  in  roundabout  ways  he  tried  to  find  out 
if  any  woman,  answering  to  her  description,  was  visit- 
ing at  the  time  in  any  of  the  neighboring  country 
houses,  he  failed  entirely  to  get  any  result. 

Being  rather  shy  of  the  chaff  he  knew  would  be 
indulged  in  at  his  expense,  he  mentioned  the  incident 
to  no  one.  He  took  careful  notes  of  date,  timib, 
and  other  particulars,  and  kept  a  strict  watch,  but  the 
lady  appeared  no  more  during  his  stay,  and  before 
Christmas  he  went  south  to  rejoin  his  family. 

He  did  not  forget  the  experience.  When  the  fol- 
lowing autumn  came  round  he  found  himself  again 
in  the  North,  under  exactly  similar  circumstances. 
Eagerly  he  anticipated  the  anniversary  of  his  first 
ghost.  He  was  waiting  for  her  on  the  landing  out- 
side his  bedroom  door,  and  suddenly  she  sprang  into 
sight  from  nowhere.  To-night  he  had  determined  to 
lay  hold  of  her,  but  he  calculated  without  his  ghost. 
She  sped  downstairs,  this  time  as  if  she  was  well 
aware  that  he  was  in  pursuit.  They  gained  the  din- 
ing-room almost  neck  to  neck,  and  this  time  she  made 
no  pause  before  slipping  through  the  wall.  She 
simply  looked  back  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  and 
smiled  at  him  enchantingly,  provokingly.  Then  he 
found  himself  alone. 

The  following  year  was  blank.     She  came  no  more. 

Why  did  she  come  to  that  house,  with  which,  it  is 
certain,  she  had  no  connection?  Why  did  she  only 
appear  twice,  and  both  times  on  the  same  date? 

Such  are  the  questions  one  asks  in  vain,  but  such 
fugitive  visions  suggest  the  whisperings  of  a  voice 
which  calls  out  in  the  wilderness,  and  leads  through 
life's  enigmas  to  the  final  awakening. 

There  are  visions  of  beauty  to  which  we  are  blind, 


SOME  STRANGE  EVENTS  113 

and  joyous  harmonies  we  do  not  hear.  There  are 
depths  of  feeling  we  have  not  plumbed,  and  heights 
we  have  not  aspired  to,  yet  I  am  sure  if  we  but  place 
ourselves  in  a  simple  attitude  of  receptiveness,  we  will 
draw  nearer  to  the  glory  of  the  unseen,  and  Nature's 
finer  forces  will  draw  nearer  to  us. 


CHAPTER  IX 

POMPEY   AND  THE  DUCHESS 

HAVE  animals  souls? 
I  unhesitatingly  answer  "  Yes." 
If  my  dog  has  not  a  soul  then  neither  have  I 
—  my  dreams  of  immortality  are  merely  a  delusion. 
I  base  my  belief  upon  the  God-like  qualities  found  in 
animals  —  the  highest  quality  of  all,  love,  pure,  and 
unadulterated  by  self-seeking. 

The  oldest  scriptures  of  the  world  tell  us  that  when 
wild  animals  die  their  life  flows  back  into  a  group 
soul,  a  mass,  as  it  were,  of  undifferentiated  life  es- 
sence. As  the  animal  becomes  domesticated,  as  a  dog 
or  cat  learns  to  live  with  man,  shares  in  his  joys  and 
sorrows,  to  be  his  constant  companion,  then  it  ad- 
vances rapidly  in  evolution.  It  is  developing  human 
qualities,  and  in  due  time  will  no  more  return  to  merge 
in  the  group  soul,  but  be  born  into  the  human  family. 
A  lowly  human  family  it  is  true,  a  primitive  savage  to 
begin  with,  but  that  animal  has  passed  one  of  the 
most  important  milestones  on  the  long,  lone  trail.  It 
will  never  more  return  to  the  world  in  the  form  of  the 
beast,  henceforth  it  will  commence  its  slow  ascent 
from  the  most  elementary  human  body  to  the  exalted 
heights  of  a  god.  They  tell  us  in  the  East :  "  First  a 
stone,  then  a  plant,  then  an  animal,  then  a  man,  and 
finally  a  God."  This  is  how  the  wisdom  of  the  East 
understands  Divine  evolution. 

114 


POMPEY  AND  THE  DUCHESS      115 

Cases  where  the  ghosts  of  animals  have  been  seen 
are  becoming  quite  common.  Before  describing  the 
astral  apparitions  of  some  of  our  animals,  I  will  recall 
a  very  interesting  case  which  was  investigated  in  re- 
cent years  at  Ballechin,  Perthshire.  The  accounts  of 
the  Ballechin  hauntings  are  contained  in  a  big  volume, 
but  at  present  I  am  only  concerned  in  the  four-footed 
ghosts  that  were  seen.  The  trouble  began  upon  the 
death  of  the  eccentric  owner,  old  Major  Stewart,  in 
1876.  He  had  frequently  stated  his  intention  of 
haunting  the  place  after  his  death,  and,  furthermore, 
had  asserted  his  determination  to  "  walk "  in  the 
form  of  one  of  his  many  dogs,  a  favorite  black  spaniel. 

The  family,  anxious,  as  they  thought,  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,  had  all  the  pack,  numbering  fourteen,  de- 
stroyed at  the  death  of  their  master,  but  this  whole- 
sale slaughter  of  the  innocents  proved  of  no  avail. 

The  first  intimation  of  its  futility  was  immediately 
apparent.  The  wife  of  the  old  Major's  nephew  and 
heir  was  seated  one  day  adding  up  accounts  in  the 
dead  man's  study,  when  the  room  was  suddenly  in- 
vaded by  the  old  doggy  smell,  and  an  unseen  dog 
pushed  distinctly  up  against  her. 

Many  other  unpleasant  incidents  followed  after, 
but  the  really  great  happenings  did  not  begin  till  1896, 
when  a  shooting  tenant,  after  a  week  or  two,  was 
compelled  to  quit  the  house,  and  forfeit  the  consider- 
able rent  he  had  paid  in  advance. 

The  above  fact  came  to  the  notice  of  that  inveterate 
ghost-hunter,  the  late  Marquis  of  Bute,  and  he,  and 
several  other  members  of  the  Psychical  Society,  hired 
the  house,  and  went  into  residence.  The  Times  of 
June,  1897,  contains  elaborate  details  of  the  various 
experiences  and  the  names  of  the  investigators. 


ii6  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

The  phenomena  they  describe  are  very  startling,  but 
perhaps  the  most  unnerving  specter  was  the  frequent 
appearance  of  a  black  spaniel,  which  was  seen  by 
numerous  persons.  One  member  of  the  party  had 
brought  a  black  spaniel  of  his  own.  He  saw  it  run 
across  the  room,  when  at  that  moment  the  real  dog 
—  his  own  —  entered  and  began  to  fraternize  with 
the  ghost  dog. 

Two  ladies  occupying  the  same  bedroom  had  a 
curious  experience.  A  pet  dog  on  the  end  of  the  bed 
began  to  whine,  and  looking  to  where  its  eyes  were 
fixed  they  saw,  not  the  black  spaniel,  but  two  black 
paws  on  the  table  by  the  bed. 

Various  other  sorts  of  dogs  were  seen  by  many 
people.  The  black  spaniel  by  no  means  had  the 
monopoly,  and  dogs,  purposely  brought  by  the  investi- 
gators to  aid  them  in  their  elucidation  of  the  mystery, 
made  friends  or  exhibited  mistrust  of  the  pack  of 
ghost  dogs  haunting  both  house  and  grounds. 

Twice  in  my  life  I  have  seen  the  wraith  of  our 
own  dogs,  "  Pompey  "  and  "  Triff."  Pompey  was  a 
big  brindled  bulldog  of  terrifying  aspect  and  angelic 
nature.  My  husband  and  I  adored  him,  and  his  death 
caused  us  great  grief.  Indeed,  the  whole  household 
mourned  him  long  and  deeply.  One  day,  about  ten 
days  after  his  death,  I  suddenly  caught  sight  of  him 
walking  in  front  of  me  down  the  avenue. 

On  the  spur  of  the  moment  I  called  him  by  name, 
then  he  vanished. 

I  mentioned  this  occurrence  to  my  maid,  who  at 
once  told  me  the  kitchenmaid  had  seen  him  in  exactly 
the  same  place. 

When  alive  on  earth  "  Pompey  "  had  a  habit  of 
stealing  into  a  guest's  room  when  the  early  tea  was 


POMPEY  AND  THE  DUCHESS      117 

brought  up.  He  would  lie  in  wait  in  a  dark  corner 
and  then  attempt  to  enter  behind  the  maid  or  valet. 
When  the  door  was  shut  again  he  would  emerge  from 
his  hiding-place,  and  attempt  to  leap  on  the  bed.  He 
was  exceedingly  gentle  and  affectionate,  but  exter- 
nally he  was  so  forbidding  that  his  offers  of  friend- 
ship were  not  always  accepted,  and  he  was  a  great 
weight. 

One  day  a  Mrs.  Shelton  came  to  stay  with  us,  and 
the  next  morning  asked  to  have  her  room  changed, 
because  "  Pompey  "  had  kept  walking  round  her  bed 
all  night,  and  she  had  not  been  able  to  sleep.  She 
was  sure  it  was  "  Pompey,"  because  she  recognized 
his  peculiar,  heavy,  slithering  movements. 

Some  time  after  this  Millicent,  Duchess  of  Suther- 
land, came  to  pay  us  a  visit.  She  had  been  very  over- 
worked, and  needed  a  complete  rest  She  brought 
with  her  a  maid  and  a  small  French  bulldog,  and  she 
and  the  maid  occupied  a  suite  of  three  rooms,  two 
bedrooms  and  a  bathroom,  shut  off  from  the  rest  of 
the  house  by  a  heavy  swing  door. 

The  French  bulldog  was  accustomed  to  sleep  in  the 
maid's  room.  We  had  no  dog  left  of  our  own.  The 
beautiful  Duchess  went  to  bed  about  half-past  ten; 
she  was  very  tired  and  ought  to  have  slept  well,  but 
she  didn't. 

In  the  night  she  was  awakened  by  what  she  took 
to  be  her  own  bulldog  prowling  round  her  bed,  yet  its 
footsteps  sounded  strangely  heavy. 

She  knew  nothing  about  "  Pompey's  "  ghostly  visits ; 
we  had  been  careful  not  to  mention  them. 

When  she  came  downstairs  the  next  morning  she 
told  us  what  a  disturbed  night  she  had  passed  through. 
She  was  awakened  soon  after  midnight  by  the  restless 


ii8  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

movements  of  a  bulldog  round  her  bed.  She  did  not 
doubt  it  was  her  own  dog,  that  owing  to  the  forgetful- 
ness  of  her  maid  had  been  left  asleep  under  her  bed. 
She  called  it,  and  at  the  same  time  switched  on  the 
light,  but  could  see  no  signs  of  any  dog  at  all.  Rather 
puzzled,  but  concluding  that  she  must  have  been  mis- 
taken, she  composed  herself  to  sleep  once  more. 

Before  very  long  the  noise  began  again.  A  bulldog 
with  its  heavy,  slouching  tread  was  moving  about 
round  her  bed. 

This  time  the  Duchess  got  up,  and  made  a  thorough 
search  of  her  room,  but  could  see  nothing  in  the  shape 
of  any  animal.  Yet  so  convinced  was  she  that  a  dog 
had  been  in  the  room,  that  she  determined  to  look  into 
her  maid's  room  to  see  if  her  own  dog  was  there. 

She  opened  her  maid's  door,  which  was  shut,  and 
went  into  the  room.  The  woman  was  asleep,  and  on 
the  bed  at  her  feet  slept  the  French  bulldog. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  go  back  to 
her  own  bed  once  more,  and  try  to  sleep  in  spite  of 
the  disturbances. 

This  was  the  story  the  Duchess  told  us,  and  added 
to  me,  "  If  he  comes  again  to-night  I  shall  come  along 
to  your  room  and  rouse  you." 

It  did  not  come  again.  The  peculiarity  of  "  Pom- 
pey's "  visits  was  that  they  only  occurred  once  to 
each  stranger,  though  he  came  several  times  to  me,  as 
was  but  natural. 

We  honored  his  memory  by  raising  to  him  a  large 
granite  headstone,  on  which  was  inscribed  — 

"  Soft  lies  the  turf  on  one  who  finds  his  rest, 
Here,  on  our  common  Mother's  ample  breast, 
Unstained  by  meanness,  avarice  and  pride, 
He  never  flattered  and  he  never  lied. 


POMPEY  AND  THE  DUCHESS      119 

No  gluttonous  excess  his  slumbers  broke, 

No  burning  alcohol,  no  stifling  smoke. 

He  ne'er  intrigued  a  rival  to  displace, 

He  ran,  but  never  betted  on  a  race. 

Content  with  harmless  sports  and  moderate  food, 

Boundless  in  love,  and  faith  and  gratitude. 

Happy  the  man,  if  there  be  any  such, 

Of  whom  his  epitaph  can  say  as  much. 

"  On  this  spot 

are  deposited  the  remains  of  one 

who  possessed  beauty  without  vanity, 

strength  without  insolence, 

courage  without  ferocity, 

and  all  the  virtues  of  man  without  his  vices. 

This  praise,  which  would  be  unmeaning  flattery 

if  inscribed  over  human  ashes, 
is  but  a  just  tribute  to  the  memory  of 

'POMPEY'  a  dog. 
Born  1891.  Died  1902." 

Our  next  dog,  "  Triff,"  was  a  very  handsome  sable 
collie.  Of  cpurse,  we  became  devoted  to  him,  and 
when  he  also  passed  away  we  felt  very  desolate  with- 
out him. 

For  a  long  time  I  never  could  feel  that  he  had  left 
me.  Though  I  could  not  see  him,  I  used  to  speak  to 
him,  just  as  if  I  could  see  the  dear  presence  I  so 
strongly  felt.  It  was  hard  that  I  never  could  catch  a 
glimpse  of  him,  because  others  did.  The  butler  saw 
him  many  times,  and  my  maid  caught  sight  of  him 
twice. 

One  often  reads  in  ghost  books  of  abnormal  animal- 
like  creatures  being  seen  by  psychics,  but  it  is  rare 
to  meet  with  living  individuals  who  can  testify  to 
such  personal  experiences. 

I  remember  Lilian,  Countess  of  Cromartie,  telling 


120  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

me  of  a  strange  incident  that  once  happened  to  her. 

She  was  walking  alone  one  bright  summer  morning 
in  Windsor  Great  Park.  Suddenly  she  saw  an  amaz- 
ing looking  creature  loping  slowly  towards  her.  It 
resembled  an  enormous  hare.  That  is  to  say,  its  legs 
and  head  were  those  of  a  hare,  but  its  size  was  that 
of  a  goat,  and  its  horned  head  was  half -goat,  half -hare. 
This  creature,  loping  without  any  fear,  and  with  a 
hare's  movement  straight  towards  her,  caused  her  to 
pause.  She  stood  still  and  breathlessly  waited  its  ap- 
proach. It  passed  quite  close  to  her,  and  as  it  did  so 
she  struck  at  it  with  her  parasol.  Instantly  it  disap- 
peared. 

Princess  Frederica  of  Hanover,  always  intensely  in- 
terested in  psychic  phenomena,  and  herself  no  tyro 
in  psychic  knowledge,  told  me  many  years  ago  that 
she  had  seen  several  different  sorts  of  abnormal  ani- 
mals, quite  unknown  to  this  earth,  and  under  circum- 
stances which  left  no  doubt  as  to  their  actual  exist- 
ence. 

Many  years  ago  there  was  much  talk  amongst  a 
certain  set  of  an  experience  that  had  come  to  a  foreign 
Grand  Duchess  and  her  husband,  who  spent  much  of 
their  time  in  England.  This  couple  were  traveling 
in  the  wilds  of  Greece,  and  one  night  they  wandered 
out  together  on  to  a  bare  mountain  side.  Sitting  down 
to  rest  they  were  enjoying  the  beauty  and  utter  loneli- 
ness of  the  moonlit  scene,  when  they  suddenly  heard 
the  galloping  of  many  horses'  hoofs  approaching  them. 
This  astonished  them  greatly,  as  they  were  in  so  wild 
and  unfrequented  a  part  of  the  country.  There  was 
no  road  near  them,  and  it  seemed  strange  to  hear 
horses  galloping  so  fast  on  such  rough  ground  at 
night,  even  though  there  was  a  moon. 


POMPEY  AND  THE  DUCHESS      121 

Husband  and  wife  stood  up  immediately  in  order 
to  show  themselves.  The  sound  suggested  a  headlong 
rush,  and  they  feared  that  in  another  second  a  whole 
regiment  might  ride  over  them. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  A  troop  of  creatures, 
half -men,  half-horses,  tore  past  them,  helter-skelter. 
Fleet  and  sure-footed  they  thundered  by,  and  they 
brought  with  them  the  most  wonderful  sense  of  joy 
and  exhilaration.  Neither  the  Grand  Duchess  nor  her 
husband  felt  the  smallest  fear;  on  the  contrary,  both 
were  seized  by  a  wild  elation,  a  desire  to  be  one  of 
that  splendid  legion.  The  thundering  of  their  hoofs 
spread  over  the  hills,  and  died  away  into  the  distance. 

On  returning  to  their  camp  the  husband  and  wife 
found  an  uproar.  Something  had  gone  wrong  with 
the  Greek  servants,  who  were  shivering  with  terror, 
and  struggling  with  equally  terrified  horses  to  prevent 
a  stampede.  All  that  could  be  learned  from  the  Greeks 
was  that  they  had  heard  something,  something  known 
of  and  greatly  feared. 

I  happened  to  hear  the  Grand  Duchess  tell  of  her 
weird  experience,  and  I  have  often  wondered  in  later 
years  if  Algernon  Blackwood  had  also  heard  the  story, 
and  founded  upon  it  his  fascinating  book,  "  The  Cen- 
taur." 

There  were  several  people  in  the  room  whilst  the 
Grand  Duchess  was  unfolding,  in  the  most  impressive 
manner,  this  strange  event.  Amongst  them  was  the 
first  Lady  Henry  Grosvenor,  born  Miss  Erskine 
Wemyss  of  Wemyss  Castle. 

She  told  us  that  when  a  child  of  seven  years  old, 
she  had  passed  through  some  minutes  of  such  abso- 
lute terror,  that  as  long  as  she  lived  she  would  never 
forget  the  experience. 


122  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

With  another  child,  and  a  nurse  in  attendance,  she 
was  playing  one  summer  morning  out  of  doors.  After 
a  little  while  the  nurse  rose  from  her  seat  amongst 
the  heather,  and  wandered  away  a  short  distance,  out 
of  sight  but  not  out  of  hearing. 

A  few  moments  after  the  two  little  girls  heard 
some  bushes  behind  them  rustling,  and  a  huge  crea- 
ture, half-goat,  half -man,  emerged  and  leisurely  cross- 
ing the  road  in  front  of  them  plunged  into  the  woods 
beyond  and  was  lost  to  sight.  Both  children  were 
thrown  into  a  paroxysm  of  terror,  and  screamed 
loudly.  The  nurse  ran  back  to  them,  and  when  told 
what  was  the  matter  scolded  them  for  their  foolish 
fancies.  No  such  animal  existed,  such  as  they  de- 
scribed, an  animal  much  bigger  than  a  goat,  that 
walked  upright,  and  had  but  two  legs,  and  two  hoofs, 
that  was  covered  with  shaggy  brown  hair  from  the 
waist  downward,  and  had  the  smooth  skin  of  a  man 
from  the  waist  upward ! 

The  nurse  bade  them  come  home  at  once,  and  as 
they  gained  the  road  Miss  Wemyss  pointed  down  into 
the  dust.  Clearly  defined  was  the  track  of  a  two- 
hoofed  creature  that  had  crossed  at  that  spot.  The 
nurse  stared  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  with  one  ac- 
cord they  all  ran.  She  never  took  her  charges  near 
that  spot  again. 

Lady  Henry  said  that  the  memory  of  that  experi- 
ence was  so  firmly  grafted  on  her  mind  that  she  could 
always  recall  with  perfect  clarity  the  exact  appearance 
of  this  appalling  creature.  In  after  years,  when 
grown  up,  she  realized  from  pictures  that  what  she 
had  seen  was  a  Faun  or  Satyr.  Such  pictures  or 
statues  always  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through  her. 
She  attributed  this  apparition  to  the  fact  that  she  and 


POMPEY  AND  THE  DUCHESS      123 

her  companion  were  playing  close  to  the  site  of  a  Ro- 
man camp,  and  the  road  was  an  old  Roman  road. 

She  went  on  to  say  that  the  Grand  Duchess  had 
given  her  courage  to  tell  this  incredible  story.  It 
was  as  absolutely  real  to  her  as  was  the  passing  of  the 
Centaurs  to  the  Grand  Duchess. 

The  whole  scene  stood  out  in  brilliant  light  as  a 
picture  before  her,  whenever  she  thought  of  it,  which 
she  very  often  did.  She  never  mentioned  it  to  any  one, 
as  she  felt  that  no  one  would  believe  her.  She  could 
always  smell  again  the  scent  of  summer,  and  the  odor 
of  pine  trees,  and  hear  the  trickling  of  water  from  a 
tiny  stream.  She  could  always  see  a  wide,  white  road, 
ribbon-like  stretching  away  to  the  horizon.  Then, 
suddenly,  she  and  her  young  companion  stood  face 
to  face  with  a  presence,  a  hideous,  unspeakable  shape, 
that  was  neither  man  nor  beast. 

She  believed  that  there  was  a  real  world  beyond 
the  glamour  and  vision  of  our  ordinary  senses,  and 
sometimes  this  veil  was  lifted  for  a  few  seconds.  She 
believed  that  much  of  the  tradition  of  mythical  crea- 
tures represented  solid  fact,  and  that  it  was  possible 
there  were  failures  of  creation  still  extant.  Again, 
might  there  not  be  races  fallen  out  of  evolution,  but 
retaining  as  a  survival  certain  powers  that  to  us  ap- 
pear miraculous.  A  very  gifted  being  was  Miminie 
Erskine  Wemyss,  who  married  Lord  Henry  Grosvenor. 
One  of  my  earliest  memories  is  the  thrill  her  beauty 
gave  me  when  first  I  saw  her,  as  she  walked  into 
church,  a  silver  prayer-book,  slung  on  a  silver  chain, 
depending  from  her  arm. 


CHAPTER  X 


ALL  through  my  life  there  have  come  to  me 
moments  never  to  be  forgotten.  Often  the 
incidents  that  so  deeply  impressed  me  were 
utterly  trivial  in  themselves,  still  they  were  sacra- 
mental, inasmuch  as  they  proved  to  me,  absolutely 
and  conclusively,  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the 
power  possessed  by  the  soul  after  so-called  death  to 
concern  itself  with  terrestrial  happenings.  Such  mo- 
ments are  sacramental,  in  the  sense  that  Nature  is 
sacramental,  in  its  showing  forth  of  God's  glory,  and 
the  manifestation  of  His  handiwork. 

I  was  sitting  near  the  library  window,  reading,  in 
the  fading  light  of  a  quiet  November  afternoon.  It 
was  one  of  those  utterly  still,  mournful  days,  with  a 
gray,  brooding  sky,  save  where,  in  the  west,  a  pale 
primrose  sunset  was  bathing  the  horizon  in  light.  I 
was  reading  "  Man  and  the  Universe,"  by  Sir  Oliver 
Lodge,  and  had  arrived  at  page  137,  which  ends  Chap- 
ter VI. 

In  those  days,  the  year  was  1908,  I  always  tried 
to  arrange  at  least  one  week  of  perfect  quiet  for  the 
study  of  a  new  book  which  I  had  just  ordered.  I 
would  calculate  on  which  day  the  post  would  bring  it 

to  my  country  home,  and  I  would  arrange  my  life 

124 


THE  INVISIBLE  HANDS  125 

accordingly.  This  may  sound  rather  ridiculous,  but 
the  truth  is  that  a  book  like  "  Man  and  the  Uni- 
verse "  is  such  a  pure  intellectual  treat  to  me,  that  I 
like  to  gloat  over  it,  to  taste  it  slowly,  and  imbibe  it 
gradually.  I  try  to  spin  out  the  joy  of  it  as  long  as 
possible  by  reading  slowly,  and  thinking  over  the  prob- 
lems presented. 

At  last  I  put  the  book  down  on  a  table  by  my  side. 
I  was  in  no  hurry.  It  lay  on  its  back,  open,  the  pages 
uppermost;  just  where  I  had  stopped  reading.  I  fell 
to  wondering  on  the  words  I  had  just  read. 

"  A  reformer  must  not  be  in  haste.  The  kingdom 
cometh  not  by  observation,  but  by  secret  working  as 
of  leaven.  Nor  must  he  advocate  any  compromise 
repugnant  to  an  enlightened  conscience.  Bigotry 
must  die,  but  it  must  die  a  natural,  not  a  violent  death. 
Would  that  the  leaders  in  Church  and  State  had  always 
been  able  to  receive  an  impatient  enthusiast  in  the 
spirit  of  the  lines  — 

"  Dreamer  of  dreams !  no  taunt  is  in  our  sadness, 
What  e'er  our  fears  our  hearts  are  with  your  cause, 
God's  mills  grind  slow;  and  thoughtless  haste  were  madness, 
To  gain  Heaven's  ends  we  dare  not  break  Heaven's  laws." 

I  must  have  sat  thinking  for  quite  ten  minutes 
when  my  attention  was  suddenly  attracted  by  a  sound. 
The  sound  of  paper  leaves  being  rustled.  The  room 
was  so  dead  still  that  the  faintest  sound  would  have 
called  my  attention,  but  this  sound  was  by  no  means 
faint.  I  turned  my  head  and  looked  at  the  book  I 
had  been  reading,  because,  from  it,  unmistakably  the 
noise  proceeded. 

I  beheld  a  most  enthralling  phenomenon.  Unseen 
hands  were  turning  over  the  pages. 


126  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

A  thrill  of  intense  excitement  ran  through  me,  and 
I  stared  at  the  book  in  breathless  interest.  The  hands 
seemed  to  be  searching  for  some  particular  passage. 
The  number  of  the  page  upon  which  the  passage  was 
printed  was  not,  apparently,  known  to  the  searcher. 
I  will  try  to  describe  what  actually  happened. 

Several  leaves  of  the  book  were  turned  over  rather 
rapidly,  each  leaf  making  the  usual  sound  which  ac- 
companies such  an  ordinary  physical  action.  Then, 
as  if  fearing  that  the  passage  required  had  been  over- 
looked or  passed  by,  several  leaves  were  turned  back 
again. 

This  manifestation  continued  for  at  least  ten  min- 
utes, and  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  pages  of  the  book 
being  turned  quite  methodically,  as  by  a  human  hand. 

At  moments  there  was  rather  a  long  pause  in  the 
search,  and  at  the  first  pause  I  thought  the  demonstra- 
tion might  be  over,  but  once  again  the  invisible  entity 
resumed  the  search,  and  I  found  myself  saying,  "  He 
found  something  there  that  interested  him.  That  is 
why  he  stopped."  For  no  reason  I  can  give  I  felt  cer- 
tain my  visitor  was  a  male  spirit. 

On  the  second  pause  in  the  search  occurring  I  had 
no  doubt  that  again  he  had  found  something  that 
interested  him.  The  whole  manifestation  was  very 
leisurely  and  wonderfully  human.  As  I  sat  watching 
the  book  being  manipulated  by  unseen  fingers,  every 
smallest  action  suggested  design.  One  could  not 
doubt  as  to  what  was  taking  place.  At  length  there 
came  a  pause  longer  than  usual.  The  book  lay  flat 
on  its  back  wide  open.  There  was  now  no  quiver  of 
the  leaves.  The  invisible  entity  had  found  what  he 
wanted  and  gone. 

I  curbed  my  curiosity  for  five  minutes  more,  then 


THE  INVISIBLE  HANDS  127 

feeling  convinced  that  I  was  again  alone  I  stretched 
out  my  hand,  took  the  book  and,  rising,  carried  it  close 
to  the  window. 

There  was  still  enough  light  to  read  by,  and  the 
leaves  were  open  at  pages  172-173. 

I  had  only  read  as  far  as  page  137. 

I  scanned  them  eagerly,  and  at  once  discovered 
that  a  mark  had  been  made  on  the  margin  of  page  172. 
A  long  cross  had  been  placed  against  a  paragraph. 
The  mark  was  such  as  might  have  been  made  by  a 
sharp  finger-nail.  The  words  marked  were  — 

"  I  want  to  make  the  distinct  assertion  that  a  really 
existing  thing  never  perishes,  but  only  changes  its 
form." 

To-day  the  mark  is  as  clearly  visible  on  the  page 
as  on  the  day  it  was  made.  I  can  form  no  conjecture 
as  to  who  the  entity  was,  but  he  certainly  knew  the 
contents  of  the  book.  No  one  watching  the  search 
could  doubt  that,  or  that  he  was  desirous  of  impressing 
upon  the  readers  of  the  book  a  certain  fact  stated 
therein,  which  must  have  previously  attracted  his  at- 
tention. 

In  the  year  1900  we  took  a  house  for  the  winter 
months  in  the  West  End  of  London. 

It  was  a  small  house  though  joined  on  either  side 
by  great  mansions,  and  once  upon  a  time  it  had  actually 
been  a  farmhouse  standing  amid  smiling  fields. 

It  retained  many  relics  of  its  ancient  origin  in  fine 
oak  paneling  and  quaint  nooks  and  corners,  and  had 
been  for  many  of  its  latter  years  the  town  residence 
of  a  man  whose  type  had  practically  died  out,  the  per- 
fect type  of  our  old  English  aristocracy. 

The  bedroom  I  occupied  was  exceedingly  comfort- 
able and  warm.  The  bed,  placed  against  the  wall, 


128  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

was  exactly  opposite  to  the  fireplace,  so  that  lying 
on  my  right  side  I  looked  straight  at  the  fire  and 
could  see  the  whole  room. 

I  was  constantly  on  the  alert,  as  I  knew  how  full 
of  history  such  a  house  must  be,  but  for  several  weeks 
I  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  in  the  least  unusual. 

One  night,  quite  unexpectedly,  a  change  occurred. 
I  no  longer  had  the  room  to  myself.  A  stranger  oc- 
cupied it  with  me. 

It  was  a  cold,  snowy  night,  and  I  was  lying  in  bed 
facing  the  fire  and  courting  sleep,  when  I  heard  a 
sudden  noise  which  was  totally  different  to  the  sounds 
made  by  the  dying  fire.  Take  a  large  sheet  of  stiff 
writing  paper  in  your  hand  and  crush  it  up  between 
your  fingers  and  you  will  hear  the  sound  I  heard. 
Quite  a  loud  and  distinct  noise  if  you  happen  to  be  in 
a  very  quiet  room,  at  an  hour  when  all  the  household 
has  retired  to  bed. 

Naturally,  I  instantly  opened  my  eyes  and  looked 
out  into  the  room,  which  was  lit  brightly  enough  by 
the  fire  to  make  all  the  objects  it  contained  quite 
distinct. 

An  armchair  was  drawn  up  close  to  the  fire;  half 
an  hour  before  I  had  been  seated  in  it  warming  my 
toes  before  getting  into  bed;  now  it  was  again  filled. 

In  it  sat  a  man  turned  sideways  towards  me.  He 
was  lying  back  with  his  legs  stretched  straight  out  in 
front  of  him  towards  the  fire.  One  of  his  arms  hung 
over  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  in  his  clenched  hand 
was  a  large  piece  of  paper  or  parchment. 

His  finely  cut  profile  was  clearly  outlined,  he  was 
clean  shaven,  and  he  stared  into  the  fire,  his  chin  sunk 
in  a  high  black  stock. 

His  hair  was  powdered  and  tied  behind  by  a  large 


THE  INVISIBLE  HANDS  129 

black  bow,  and  he  wore  bright  blue  cloth  knee  breeches, 
white  stockings,  silver  buckled  shoes,  and  many  gold 
buttons  on  his  blue  coat.  I  did  not  take  in  all  those 
details  at  once ;  I  had  ample  leisure  to  do  so  later.  For, 
I  suppose,  a  full  two  minutes,  I  stared  very  hard  at 
him,  and  lay  very  still,  knowing  full  well  I  was  looking 
at  a  ghost.  Then  very  cautiously  I  drew  the  bed- 
clothes over  my  head,  and  shut  out  the  startling  vision. 
I  was  invaded  by  wild  panic. 

I  have  never  been  one  of  those  timid  women  who 
are  frightened  by  their  own  shadows.  I  require  to 
be  face  to  face  with  a  tangible  danger  before  I  put 
faith  in  its  existence,  yet,  I  confess  that  at  that  mo- 
ment I  knew  what  actual  fear  meant.  My  heart  beat 
thickly,  then  seemed  to  stop,  and  I  was  instantly  bathed 
in  cold  perspiration.  I  knew  that  the  servants  were 
all  in  bed  two  flights  of  stairs  below  me,  and  my  hus- 
band was  out  of  London,  so  no  calling  for  help  was 
any  use.  I  therefore  forced  a  sort  of  spurious  des- 
perate courage,  and  began  to  be  angry  with  myself 
for  being  thus  afraid  when  no  cause  for  fear  existed. 
I  treated  myself  to  a  scornful  lecture.  "  You  who 
profess  to  know  all  about  ghosts,  you  who  have  ac- 
tually seen  several  ghosts,  you  coward  to  quail  before 
this  one !  Don't  you  know  perfectly  well  that  he  won't 
hurt  you,  that  he  has  a  perfect  right  to  sit  in  that 
chair,  and  that  it  is  your  duty  to  speak  to  him  should 
he  show  any  desire  for  conversation  ?  " 

"  I  am  so  terribly  alone,"  pleaded  my  other  self  in 
feeble  self-defense. 

"Well,  what  of  it?  If  the  whole  household  was 
in  the  room  what  could  they  do?  You  are  not  a 
child.  Uncover  your  head  and  look  the  specter  boldly 
in  the  face." 


130  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

The  stillness  and  hush  of  deep  night,  at  the  hour 
when  sleepers  slumber  soundest,  was  upon  the  house. 
The  traffic  of  London  was  muffled  in  a  heavy  fall  of 
snow.  I  could  hear  nothing  but  the  feeble  crackling 
of  the  expiring  fire  in  the  grate,  but  gradually  I  ral- 
lied my  courage  and  faculties  and  peeped  stealthily 
out. 

There  sat  that  dark  form  between  me  and  the 
fire ;  there  he  lay  in  an  attitude  of  moody  carelessness, 
watching  the  cooling  embers  as  they  faded  from  scarlet 
to  pink,  from  pink  to  yellow,  and  then  fell  tinkling 
into  heaps  of  white  ashes.  No  statue  was  ever  stiller. 
He  did  not  move  in  the  least,  but  sat  more  like  an 
effigy  of  a  man  carved  out  of  stone  than  a  creature  of 
flesh  and  blood. 

I  closed  my  eyes  and  re-opened  them,  to  test  the  fact 
whether  I  was  awake  or  asleep  and  dreaming.  No, 
I  was  broad  wake  and  the  room  was  still  fairly  well 
lit,  and  there  sat  the  phantom  before  the  fire,  the 
proud,  well-set  head  with  its  powdered  curls  distinctly 
visible  in  the  red  glow  of  the  firelight.  I  should  think 
an  hour  must  have  passed  thus,  whilst  I  gazed  at  the 
figure  before  me,  taking  in  every  detail.  There  was 
no  indication  that  he  knew  or  cared  for  my  presence. 
The  figure  sat  like  a  stone. 

I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  phantom  was 
about  thirty  years  of  age,  and  a  sailor  who  had  lived 
in  the  days  of  Nelson,  judging  by  his  clothes  and  the 
pictures  I  had  seen.  I  noticed  particularly  his  hand 
clenched  on  the  paper.  A  white  hand,  with  strong 
cruel-looking  fingers.  There  is  so  much  character  in 
hands.  The  face  may  be  drilled  into  a  mere  mask, 
but  hands  tell  tales  of  their  owners.  I  could  imagine 
the  hand  that  had  crushed  the  papar  closing  murder- 


THE  INVISIBLE  HANDS  131 

ously  on  the  throat  of  an  adversary,  or  gripped  hard 
on  the  hilt  of  a  dagger. 

Ther  were  moments  when  the  awful  inertia  of  the 
figure  began  to  play  havoc  with  my  nerves,  when  I 
would  have  given  anything  to  make  that  impassive 
form  move  from  out  its  dreary  attitude  of  sullen 
brooding;  anything  to  cause  the  profile  of  the  face, 
with  all  its  gloom  and  pride,  to  turn  and  front  me,  so 
that  I  might  know  the  worst.  But  the  figure  never 
turned,  never  stirred,  but  sat  with  stately  head  bowed 
under  a  weight  of  thought. 

Now  and  again  a  little  flame  would  spurt  up  and 
glitter  on  his  shoe  buckles,  his  brass  buttons,  but  the 
fire  was  dying  now,  and  gradually  the  figure  became 
more  and  more  indistinct. 

Then  I  slept.  I  had  been  feeling  drowsy  for  some 
time,  and  fought  against  it.  I  had  violently  resisted 
sleep,  feeling  a  great  repugnance  to  losing  conscious- 
ness whilst  the  specter  still  sat  there,  but  the  blank  force 
of  sleep  at  length  overpowered  me.  When  I  awoke 
the  cold  gray  morning  light  was  stealing  feebly  in 
through  the  window.  The  chair  was  empty.  The 
figure  was  gone. 

The  next  night  I  went  to  bed  full  of  courage,  but 
I  was  left  alone.  If  the  sailor  returned  it  was  not  un- 
til after  I  had  gone  to  sleep. 

A  week  later  he  came  back.  One  moment  the  chair 
was  empty,  the  next  moment  with  one  wild  heart 
throb  I  opened  my  eyes  at  the  sound  of  crackling 
paper,  and  the  chair  was  filled.  There  he  sat  in  his 
'brooding  sullen  attitude  and  continued  so  to  sit  till 
slumber  vanquished  me.  After  that  I  saw  him  at 
constant  intervals. 

By  this  time  I  had  entirely  rid  myself  of  all  fear. 


132  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

I  did  not  even  desire  to  change  my  room  which  would 
have  been  very  inconvenient,  and  I  dreaded  alarming 
the  household  and  being  left  alone  to  conduct  the 
domestic  duties.  But  though  no  longer  afraid  those 
constant  visits  began  to  get  on  my  nerves,  and  I  con- 
sulted a  Catholic  friend  who  was  always  sympathetic 
to  the  occult  side  of  life. 

She  said  at  once  that  this  spirit  should  be  exorcised 
and  set  free  from  the  bondage  of  earth,  and  that 
she  had  an  old  friend,  a  Franciscan  monk,  who  was 
known  to  be  a  powerful  exorcist.  She  offered  to  ar- 
range the  matter,  and  I  gladly  accepted  her  sugges- 
tion. 

It  was  on  an  early  spring  afternoon  that  Father 
Reginald  Buckler  came  to  the  house.  In  his  white 
habit,  sandaled  feet  and  shorn  crown,  he  looked  an 
incongruous  figure  in  that  fashionable  locality  already 
beginning  its  social  entertainments  in  view  of  the 
season's  approach.  He  was  a  charming,  courteous  old 
man,  who  took  his  mission  very  seriously.  After  a 
few  words  of  explanation  we  mounted  to  the  bedroom 
floor. 

There  were  four  doors  opening  on  to  the  little 
landing,  and  without  asking  which  of  the  doors  led 
to  the  haunted  chamber,  he  turned  the  handle  of  the 
right  one  and  entered.  Still  he  put  no  question,  but 
at  once  proceeded  with  the  Service  of  Exorcism. 

Sprinkling  the  four  corners  of  the  room  with  Holy 
Water,  he  bade  me  kneel  down  in  the  middle.  Then 
he  raised  his  Crucifix  and  offered  up  prayers  for  the 
repose  of  the  earth-bound  soul,  that  he  might  be  loosed 
and  set  free. 

For  five  weeks  longer  we  remained  in  the  house, 
but  I  never  saw  the  sailor  again. 


CHAPTER  XI 

DAWNS 

WE  have  been  given  many  wonderful  dawns 
this  winter,  and  I  have  used  them  eagerly 
as  a  cleansing  of  the  war-weary  mind  and 
distracted  soul.  In  such  ethereal  apparitional  dawns 
one  "walks  with  the  Eternal,  and  all  temporal  things 
fade  away.  Those  pale  silver  daybreaks  have  a  rap- 
ture of  their  own,  they  suggest  a  fresh  creation  straight 
from  the  looms  of  God.  When  the  hours  of  day  have 
drawn  on  the  flaming  sunset,  that  exquisitely  serene 
emotion  of  virgin  tranquillity  will  have  passed  away, 
and  the  horizon  will  be  lurid  and  grand  beneath  a 
grave  frowning  sadness  gathered  from  the  scenes  of 
earth  they  have  brooded  over. 

Such  dawns  beckon  imperiously  to  the  pilgrim,  to 
leave  the  shelter  of  the  roof -tree,  and  come  forth  to 
walk  with  the  immortals  whilst  the  Morning  Star,  the 
light-bringer,  still  shines,  a  white  gold  radiance  in  the 
heavens,  and  the  distance  is  still  dissolved  in  veils  of 
pearl  and  opal. 

Such  daybreaks  always  rouse  in  me  the  urge  for 
wider  thought,  for  the  broad  day  of  the  mind.  Out 
of  the  limitless  beyond  comes  the  certain  knowledge 
of  a  something  unimagined,  lying  just  outside  human 
thought.  I  am  sure  there  is  so  much  not  yet  imagined, 
something  more  than  mere  existence. 

There  is  a  wine  of  happiness  in  tranquil  daybreak, 
and  an  aloofness  from  life  that  urges  one  to  seek  for 

133 


134  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

that  which  is  beyond  comprehension.  The  draught 
exalts  the  soul,  and  quickens  it  with  unquenchable  fire, 
until  the  world  falls  away,  far  from  one,  as  day  wells 
out  of  still  darkness.  Only  at  such  moments  do  we 
reach  the  true  horizon. 

Again,  there  is  an  amnesty  in  such  dawns,  a  glory 
of  release  from  the  house  of  bondage.  In  the  great 
silences,  life,  as  we  know  it,  is  remote,  and  the  im- 
mensity is  a  magic  that  draws  the  soul,  fusing  it  in  a 
strange  passion,  so  that  whatever  fulfillment  our  exist- 
ence holds  is  summed  in  that  hour  of  solitude. 

A  pale  wash  of  translucent  gold  is  thrown  across 
land  and  sea.  On  the  far  horizon  a  ship  is  set  in 
relief,  against  a  core  of  crimson  flame  which  heralds 
the  sun.  A  dove  coos  softly,  and  on  a  bare  branch  a 
thrush  thrills  in  waves  of  sound,  seeking  in  the  univer- 
sal ether  to  reproduce  its  divine  instinct  in  other 
feathered  hearts  that  are  attuned  to  its  melody. 

Such  joys  as  these  are  transitory,  and  never  wholly 
possessed.  They  pass  the  enclosures  of  life,  and  bring 
one  nearer  to  the  beating  heart  of  truth.  The  agoniz- 
ing fear  of  losing  hold  on  them  is,  in  itself,  the  cause 
of  their  dispersal.  It  is  the  same  at  rare  moments  of 
semi-consciousness,  when  one  has  actually  laid  hold  of 
a  genuine  astral  experience  —  and  knows  it.  Then 
comes  the  frantic  endeavor  to  hold  on  —  to  pin  the 
moment  fast  and  tight,  till  the  whole  vision  is  absorbed. 
The  soul  seems  to  hold  its  breath!  How  often,  with 
bitter  disappointment  I  have  rushed  reluctantly  into 
full  waking  consciousness  —  and  only  half  the  story 
told.  Fragmentary  though  such  moments  are  their 
potency  is  such  that  they  endure  through  time.  Thank 
God,  that  whilst  the  wedlock  of  body  and  soul  still 
holds  undissolved  there  is  scope  for  such  joys.  They 


DAWNS     ,  135 

are  uncommunicable,  and  may  not  be  shared  with 
others  at  will,  and  they  tell  the  soul  that  she  is  not  of 
creation  and  cannot  be  contained  by  law.  At  such 
hours  she  learns  the  truth,  that  she  passes  for  a  brief 
span  into  the  limited,  from  out  the  limitless  whence 
she  came.  At  such  sacramental  hours  one  can  pray 
the  prayer  of  Socrates,  offered  up  by  the  banks  of  the 
Illissus : 

"  O  Beloved  God  of  the  forests  and  flocks  and  all 
ye  Divinities  of  this  place,  grant  me  to  become  beauti- 
ful in  the  inner  man,  and  that  whatever  outward  things 
I  have  may  be  at  peace  with  those  within.  May  I 
deem  the  wise  man  rich,  and  may  I  have  so  much 
wealth,  and  so  much  only,  as  a  good  man  can  manage 
to  enjoy. 

"  Do  we  need  anything  else,  Phsedrus?  For  myself 
I  have  prayed  enough." 

How  many  people  now  recall  fragments  of  former 
lives!  Ask  the  next  man  you  meet  if  he  has  any 
recollections  of  former  existences,  and  be  sure  he  will 
not  eye  you  askance  as  a  fugitive  from  Bedlam.  He 
may  smile  and  shake  his  head,  and  regret  to  say  he 
isn't  psychic,  but  he  won't  ask  you  what  on  earth  you 
mean.  This  is  how  we  have  progressed  towards  truth 
in  the  last  thirty  years.  The  truth  of  reincarnation 
is  being  quietly  accepted  by  the  West  and  is  now  openly 
preached  from  many  pulpits.  If  God  is  love,  who 
could  reconcile  with  any  comprehensive  idea  of  jus- 
tice and  law  in  the  world  the  lives  and  experiences 
of  common  humanity?  How  reconcile  the  births  tak- 
ing place  in  one  single  day  in  their  vast  diversity,  by  the 
hell  for  the  criminal,  born,  nurtured  and  killed  in  crime, 
who  never  had  a  chance,  and  Heaven  for  the  happily 


136  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

born,  who  need  never  have  a  temptation?  What  is 
the  Divine  Law  lying  behind  this  seeming  hideous  in- 
justice? Undoubtedly  the  continuous  evolution  of  the 
soul  in  bodies  of  matter.  Men  are  looking  now  to 
the  scheme  of  organic  evolution  to  provide  the  field 
for  spiritual  evolution.  They  are  finding  it  in  the 
depths  of  their  own  consciousness. 

I  chanced  upon  one  of  those  fragments  of  a  past 
life,  those  islets  in  eternity  in  a  strange  way.  I  was 
paying  a  visit  to  a  stranger  in  Cambridgeshire,  and 
whilst  awaiting  her  entry  I  walked  round  the  room 
looking  at  some  lovely  water-colored  sketches  that 
hung  upon  the  walls.  When  their  owner  entered,  and 
after  a  few  minutes'  conversation,  I  said,  "  How  beau- 
tiful those  Sicilian  scenes  are!  " 

She  looked  pleased  and  answered :  "I'm  so  glad 
you  recognize  them.  I  painted  them.  When  were 
you  last  in  Sicily?  " 

I  had  never  at  that  time  been  in  Sicily.  I  told 
her  so,  but  I  could  not  tell  a  stranger  that  suddenly 
there  had  dawned  upon  me  a  keen  recollection  of  the 
country  I  had  certainly  been  in,  though  not  in  this 
life.  The  paintings,  of  course,  dealt  with  a  restricted 
field,  but  as  I  looked  at  them  one  by  one  I  saw  mentally 
a  wide  landscape  in  which  each  picture  formed  but  a 
tiny  spot.  One  I  remember  was  a  painting  of  a  won- 
derfully perfect  temple,  which  occupied  the  whole  space 
of  the  picture.  As  I  looked  at  it  I  saw  wide  rolling 
plains,  and  a  wide  expanse  of  blue  sea.  This  I  later 
recognized  in  Girgenti. 

A  month  or  two  afterwards  my  husband  and  I 
went  to  Sicily  for  the  winter,  and,  as  I  had  expected, 
the  island  was  perfectly  familiar  to  me.  I  knew 
exactly  round  which  bend  of  the  hill  I  should  find  a 


DAWNS  137 

temple,  but  Syracuse  was  really  my  spiritual  home. 
It  was  there  that  I  had  played  out  one  of  my  many 
life  dramas,  and  many  incidents  returned  to  me  as  I 
wandered  over  the  hills,  and  gathered  maiden-hair 
ferns  in  the  twilight  of  the  empty  tombs. 

Once  I  opened  my  eyes  on  Stromboli,  one  of  the 
^Eolian  or  Lipari  Isles.  Instantly  I  felt  a  passion  of 
love  for  it,  an  intuition  of  spiritual  delight  which  is 
utterly  irreducible  to  terms.  I  have  looked  upon  it 
since,  and  always  with  an  adoration  impossible  to 
paint  with  pen  or  pencil.  I  have  for  weeks  antici- 
pated the  moment  when  I  should  see  it  again.  It 
means  something  to  me  far  beyond  what  the  eye  can 
see,  the  tongue  relate,  and  it  is  this  something  lying 
betwixt  rhapsody  and  lament  which  draws  me  by  a 
tenuous  chain  of  thought  right  back  into  the  womb 
of  time,  where  buried  memory  stirs  in  its  long  sleep. 

Stromboli,  so  the  ancient  poets  tell  us,  was  the 
home  of  the  fiery  god,  Vulcan.  That  explains  much 
to  me,  but  it  unfolds  a  secret  none  may  learn. 

It  was  in  a  flaming  dawn  that  I  first  saw  Stromboli 
rising  from  amid  the  numerous  isles  surrounding  it. 
From  its  cone  shot  a  great  plume  of  smoke,  like  a 
giant  ostrich  feather,  silver  tinted.  In  its  ethereal 
loveliness  it  seemed  to  float  in  the  void,  half  of  earth, 
half  of  heaven. 

Neither  bondage  of  words,  nor  the  cold  scrutiny 
of  reason  can  impinge  upon  a  scene  which  draws  the 
soul  away  upon  a  celestial  pilgrimage.  Free  and 
elate,  she  passes  beyond  the  frontiers  of  life,  and  like 
the  echoes  of  the  sea  when  a  shell  is  held  to  the  ear, 
she  hears  the  pulse  of  earth  beat  far  away  in  unfathom- 
able distance.  The  marvel  of  the  uncreated  consumes 
her  in  a  trance  of  unincarnate  passion. 


138  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Those  who  have  once  adventured  on  such  pilgrim- 
ages are  never  quite  the  same  again.  They  become 
children  of  "  the  Divine  unrest."  They  have  experi- 
enced a  moment  in  which  earth  and  flesh  dissolve, 
in  which  law  is  not,  in  which  creeds  and  covenants 
find  no  place,  and  the  hold  upon  common  life  with  its 
moving  mirages  is  blotted  out.  Time  and  space  are 
annulled,  the  aeon  and  the  second  are  one.  The  soul 
unswathed,  has  risen  from  the  tomb  where  the  life 
urge  has  laid  it,  and  is  aglow  with  the  transcendental 
fires  of  eternal  being.  In  after  days  the  soul  learns 
to  set  barriers  against  such  visitants.  One  must  not 
look  upon  the  other  side  of  the  moon  too  often,  for 
fear  one  is  drawn  away  from  home  and  kindred.  The 
time  is  not  yet,  but  it  will  surely  come. 

One  other  curious  happening  I  must  relate.  Years 
ago,  one  autumn  when  I  was  in  the  far  north  there 
came  a  magnificent  visitation  of  falling  stars  and 
many  aerolites  dropped  to  earth.  The  display  was 
predicted,  and  I  was  on  the  lookout.  It  came  in  a 
rain  of  gold  and  seemingly  from  all  points  of  the 
compass.  For  hours  I  watched  a  sight  far  more  mar- 
velous than  anything  I  had  anticipated. 

When  at  last  I  reluctantly  went  to  bed  I  had  a 
strange  dream  or,  rather,  astral  experience.  I  was  a 
Hungarian  gipsy,  the  head  or  queen  of  an  enormous 
clan.  I  heard  'wild  Hungarian  music,  and  saw  enor- 
mous crowds  of  my  people  gathered  round  me.  They 
were  very  savage  and  picturesque,  and  a  ceremony 
was  proceeding. 

On  the  ground,  and  in  the  center  of  a  great  ring 
of  people,  stood  a  large  bowl  filled  with  blood.  I 
stood  in  front  of  it  and  watched  the  swearing  in  of 
new  adherents  to  my  clan,  by  means  of  the  "  blood 


DAWNS  139 

covenant."  The  blood  that  filled  the  bowl  had  been 
drawn  from  the  veins  of  my  people,  and  the  new  ad- 
herents were  each  required  to  drink  from  it  and  swear 
their  allegiance.  Only  one  thing  troubled  me  all 
through  what  seemed  a  long  ceremony.  My  feet 
caused  me  pain,  and  I  was  aware  that  they  were  bare, 
as  were  the  feet  of  all  my  people. 

So  vivid  was  the  dream  that  I  could  visualize  my 
whole  life  as  I  lived  it  on  the  plains  of  Hungary,  and 
the  scenery  surrounding  me  was  lit  up  by  a  glorious 
sunset.  There  were  hundreds  of  horses  grazing  loose, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  flocks  of  enormous 
white  geese,  amid  which  great  storks  strutted. 

Suddenly  I  awoke  with  the  acute  pain  in  my  feet 
uppermost  in  my  mind.  I  found  myself  clad  only  in 
my  nightgown,  walking  bare-footed  on  the  rough 
gravel  paths  of  the  garden,  whence  I  had  watched 
the  stellar  display.  I  had  been  walking  in  my  sleep, 
and  the  sudden  unaccustomed  stony  hardness  of  the 
path  under  my  bare  feet  had  awakened  in  me  the 
recollection  of  a  past  life,  in  which  I  had  lived,  a  wild 
nomad  in  southern  Hungary. 

This  is  the  one  and  only  occasion  in  my  life  in  which 
I  have  known  somnambulism.  Luckily  my  memory 
did  not  fail  me  on  waking  and,  some  time  after,  when  I 
was  able  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  that  long  ago  pil- 
grimage I  was  quite  familiar  with  my  surroundings. 

Buda  Pest  and  the  lands  lying  southward  were  then 
my  home,  a  roving  home  and  tent  life  of  infinite  va- 
riety. 

Thus  the  dead  of  vanished  years  are  disguised  in 
the  present  living. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  many  people  who  have  not 
had  the  interesting  experience  of  remembering  one 


140  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

or  more  of  their  former  incarnations  have  been  able 
through  some  trivial  incident  to  recollect  happenings 
long  vanished  from  their  memory.  Sometimes  the 
scent  of  a  flower,  the  glimpse  of  a  scene,  a  chance 
word  or  expression  will  vividly  recall  some  episode 
lying  hidden  for  many  years  in  the  subconsciousness. 
Again  it  will  be  pulled  over  the  threshold  from  past  to 
present,  from  the  storehouse  of  the  eternal  memory 
into  the  everyday  working  consciousness  or  mind. 

This  is  not  a  book  for  scientists.  I  will  therefore 
go  into  no  elaborate  metaphysics,  but  will  sketch  as 
simply  as  I  can  what  I  mean  by  subconsciousness.  I 
use  the  term  for  the  region  or  zone  within  us  which 
stores  up  the  residues  of  past  thoughts  and  experi- 
ences. Scientists  tell  us  there  are  three  realms  of 
mind,  the  super-conscious,  the  conscious,  the  subcon- 
scious. The  conscious  mind  is  what  we  commonly 
use.  It  belongs  purely  to  the  objective  world,  and 
its  instruments  are  the  five  senses.  The  subconscious 
mind  is  the  storehouse  for  experiences  on  the  human 
plane  of  man's  long  past.  The  super-consciousness  is 
independent  of  the  five  senses.  It  is  a  faculty  of  per- 
ception closely  akin  to  the  One  force  in  the  Universe, 
which  is  inseparably  related  to  all  created  things.  It 
possesses  the  attributes  of  Infinity,  is  indestructible, 
immortal,  undying.  We  may  forget  a  fact  for  many 
years,  then  suddenly  we  remember  it.  I  believe  it 
has  come  back  to  us  again  across  the  threshold  from 
the  subconscious  region  to  our  consciousness  or  mind 
which  is  open  to  everyday  observation. 

I  have  become  convinced,  by  personal  experience, 
of  the  existence  in  us  of  this  region  below  the  threshold 
of  our  ordinary  conscious  life.  When  I  was  young 
there  were  many  problems  I  wished  to  solve,  and  in 


DAWNS  141 

this  effort  human  aid  often  failed  me.  My  plan  was 
to  "  sleep  on "  a  problem,  ardently  desiring  before 
"  dropping  off  "  that  an  answer  might  be  accorded 
me.  I  suppose  this  desire  was  of  the  nature  of  prayer, 
though  addressed  to  no  Deity.  Almost  invariably  the 
solution  was  clear  and  unmistakable  to  me  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

I  lost  this  great  advantage  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
one,  but  even  now  I  can  sometimes  "  get  at "  a  solu- 
tion by  leaving  the  question  severely  alone,  after  turn- 
ing it  well  over  in  my  mind.  The  solution  will  sud- 
denly pop  up,  often  weeks  after  I  have  tried  to  get 
at  it,  and  when  it  comes  there,  it  arrives  apropos  of 
nothing,  so  to  speak.  It  simply  dawns  in  the  thick 
of  quite  other  subjects,  which  happen  at  the  moment 
to  occupy  my  mind. 

Though  I  can  no  more  demonstrate  to  others  the 
existence  of  the  subconsciousness  than  I  can  prove 
the  existence  of  the  immortal  soul,  I  have  got  suffi- 
cient proof  to  satisfy  myself,  and  I  believe  the  same 
knowledge  is  open  to  many  of  us.  Within  our  being 
are  sympathetic  chords  that  can  vibrate  to  all  the 
symphonies  of  Nature.  There  are  visions  of  beauty 
and  depths  of  feeling  which  may  be  seen  and  felt,  if 
heart  and  mind  are  open  to  the  higher  influences.  The 
finer  forces  of  Nature,  and  her  immutable  laws,  are 
ready  to  draw  nigh  to  us  if  we  desire  to  welcome 
them,  and  are  eager  to  place  ourselves  in  harmony 
with  the  Infinite  Source  of  being.  We  are  in  the  keep- 
ing of  the  best  and  highest,  and  whatever  things  are 
pure,  whatsoever  things  are  beautiful,  whatsoever 
things  are  true  and  high  and  holy  will  gravitate  towards 
us  in  proportion  to  the  degree  we  desire  them.  The 
mysterious  gift  of  existence  is  in  itself  a  beckoning 


142  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

ideal,  and  a  foregleam  of  the  final  awakening  that  will 
surely  be  ours. 

Now  what  does  the  subconsciousness  contain? 

Firstly,  I  believe  it  to  be  permeated  by  Deity,  and 
the  Divine  indwelling.  It  is  the  seat  of  Genius.  I 
believe  a  genius  to  be  one  who  is  capable  of  drawing 
from  the  contents  of  his  subconciousness  that  which 
outwardly  appears  as  a  creation.  It  is  said  that  genius 
creates  and  talent  copies.  I  believe  that  a  man  be- 
comes great  when  he  represents  the  results  of  count- 
less lives  in  his  individuality,  and  each  life  is  an  arc 
of  the  infinite  life  of  the  Universe.  The  man  with 
aeons  of  experience  behind  him  is  infinitely  more  en 
rapport  with  his  subconsciousness  than  those  younger, 
more  immature  souls  who  have  as  yet  experienced 
few  earth  lives  and  who  constitute  the  bulk  of  hu- 
manity. 

The  eternal  mind  finds  its  home  in  the  subcon- 
sciousness, by  which  I  mean  that  nothing  is  really 
forgotten  by  man.  This  lapse  of  memory  is  the  pass- 
ing of  the  subject  from  the  ordinary  mind  into  the 
subconsciousness,  whence  it  may  later  be  recovered 
again.  The  memory  of  all  our  former  incarnations  I 
believe  to  lie  hidden  in  the  subconsciousness.  It  is 
from  this  region  or  zone  that  one  gets  sudden  uprushes 
of  memory,  and  such  uprushes  are  induced  by  stumb- 
ling on  a  chance  link  between  the  two  zones  of  con- 
sciousness. 

Some  chance  incident,  such  as  the  presence  of  my 
bare  feet  upon  the  rough  gravel,  touches  a  correspond- 
ence on  the  other  side  of  the  threshold,  and  lays  bare 
old  scenes  to  the  observation  of  the  ordinary  mind. 
It  is  noteworthy  that  the  matter  contained  in  this  up- 


DAWNS  143 

rushing  is  recognized  first,  and  the  means  which 
brought  about  the  uprush  is  recognized  secondly. 

I  believe  there  is  a  vital  communication  between 
consciousness  and  subconsciousness  which  could  be 
enormously  developed  and  utilized  by  practice.  The 
age  in  which  we  live  has  produced  the  most  marvelous 
triumphs  of  mind  over  matter.  Access  to  the  sub- 
consciousness  is  becoming  commoner  and  simpler. 
We  have  broken  in  and  harnessed  material  forces  in 
a  manner  undreamt  of  fifty  years  ago.  Yet  there  is 
an  alas !  a  fact  which  detracts  from  all  our  legitimate 
pride  in  our  achievement  —  the  base  uses  to  which  our 
triumphs  have  been  put.  The  whole  of  our  inven- 
tive power  has  been  turned  against  the  life  that  gave 
it  birth.  The  parents  are  being  consumed  by  their 
own  offspring.  .  .  .  Matter  evolved  out  of  spirit  has 
threatened  destruction  to  the  latter. 

The  threshold  between  our  ordinary  consciousness 
and  the  region  of  subconsciousness  seems  to  me  like 
a  bridge  which  is  rarely  used,  and  which  separates  the 
country  known  from  the  country  unknown.  I  live  in 
the  country  known,  but  if  I  can  touch  a  button  at 
my  end  I  can  get  a  response  instantaneously  trans- 
mitted from  the  country  unknown.  The  trouble  is  to 
find  the  button.  At  present  I  only  press  it  at  long 
intervals  and  by  the  merest  chance.  Still  it  is  some- 
thing of  an  achievement  to  have  convinced  one's  self 
that  such  a  region  actually  does  exist. 

I  believe  this  subconsciousness  of  ours  is  in  direct 
contact  with  the  Great  Creative  Power.  "  It  is  God 
that  worketh  "  in  man,  and  its  vital  communications 
are  hidden  in  the  infinite  eternity.  Says  a  Sufi  ideal : 
"  To  abide  in  God  after  passing  away  is  the  work  of 


144  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

the  perfect  man,  who  not  only  journeys  to  God  — 
passes  from  plurality  to  unity  —  but  in  and  with  God 
—  continuing  in  the  unitive  state  he  returns  with  God 
(his  subconscious  self)  to  the  phenomenal  world  from 
which  he  sets  out,  and  manifests  unity  in  plurality." 

Though  at  present,  to  all  outward  seeming,  the 
evolution  of  the  beast  is  consummated,  there  is  a  some- 
thing that  flatly  contradicts  this  apparent  certainty. 
That  something  is  man's  subconsciousness,  and  the 
Divinity  it  enshrouds,  and  which  fiercely  and  irrevo- 
cably is  set  against  the  bestiality  into  which  he  is 
plunged.  War  has  never  been  so  universally  hated 
as  it  now  is.  It  is  in  this  vital  fact,  which  cannot  be 
too  strongly  emphasized,  that  our  future  hope  lies. 

I  believe  this  vital  fact  to  be  so  strong  that  entire 
regeneration  is  a  certainty.  Where  hitherto  this  force 
has  lain  dormant  or  been  dispersed,  disunited  and 
weak  in  spiritual  utterance,  it  is  now  a  collective  force 
concentrated  in  millions  of  lives.  All  over  the  earth 
it  is  now  gathered  en  masse,  and  that  stupendous 
aggregate,  vivified,  sharpened,  and  intensely  accentu- 
ated by  untold  suffering  will  revolutionize  all  former 
weak  and  fatalistic  acquiescence  in  the  inevitability 
of  war.  Millions  of  men  have  descended  into  hell, 
they  are  there  now,  but  they  will  arise  again  from 
amongst  the  dead,  and  ascend  one  day  into  the  Heaven 
of  peace,  and  thence  they  will  judge  the  quick  and  the 
dead  by  a  new  standard.  The  standard  of  the  God 
within,  whose  voice  has  been  heard  at  last  from  out 
the  din  of  battle.  It  is  the  same  God  who  has  said 
to  the  East :  — 

"  Have  perseverance  as  one  who  dost  forever  more 
endure.  Thy  shadows  (physical  bodies)  live  and 
vanish,  that  which  is  in  thee  shall  live  forever,  that 


DAWNS  145 

which  in  thee  knows  is  not  of  fleeting  life,  it  is  the 
man  that  was,  that  is,  that  will  be,  for  whom  the 
hour  shall  never  strike." 

To-day  we  all  use,  in  some  cases  automatically, 
the  powers  and  aptitudes  developed  in  us  in  the  long 
and  painful  evolution  of  the  physical  form.  As  evo- 
lution proceeds  we  will  gain  a  vastly  greater  control 
over  the  subconsciousness,  and  in  aeons  to  come  "  in 
the  flight  of  the  alone  to  the  alone  "  union  will  be 
achieved.  The  two  will  be  merged  in  one. 

The  Lord  Buddha  has  said  that  to  enter  Nirvana 
is  to  become  fully  conscious  of  our  fundamental  one- 
ness with  the  universal  life. 

"  I  and  my  Father  are  one."  Christ's  sense  of  one- 
ness with  the  Father  was  essentially  Nirvanic. 

We  have  not  yet  accustomed  ourselves  to  think 
of  evolution  in  any  terms  but  the  material,  as  a  power 
inherent  in  matter.  Darwin's  physical  evolution  stood 
for  pure  materialism.  Bergson  now  carries  us  a  step 
farther.  He  introduces  us  to  a  spiritual  principle. 
His  creative  evolution  is  a  spiritual  activity  seeking 
freedom  of  expression  in  matter.  Darwin's  struggle 
for  existence  is  by  Bergson  transmuted  into  life,  ex- 
pressing itself  through  material  forms,  and  life  and 
matter  are  in  constant  conflict.  Again  he  points  out 
that  the  spiritual  principle,  life,  has  not  "  had  it  all 
its  own  way."  It  has  experienced  checks,  but  in  two 
modes  of  activity  it  has  succeeded,  in  instinct  and 
intelligence.  Thus  he  draws  for  us  the  grandiose  up- 
ward sweep  of  a  Divine  activity.  Curbed,  it  is  true, 
by  the  crust  of  matter,  but  finding  ever  higher  capa- 
cities, and  higher  expression  towards  that  ultimate 
reality  which  is  creative  life  and  to  me  is  union  with 
that  higher  self  lying  in  the  subconsciousness  of  all  men. 


CHAPTER  XII 

PEACOCK'S  FEATHERS  —  THE  SKELETON  HAND 
AT  MONTE  CARLO 

A  SEA  voyage  once  provided  me  with  a  wonder- 
fully lucky  experience,  inasmuch  as  it  saved 
me  from  an  extremely  bad  accident. 

I  was  returning  quite  alone  from  the  East  in  a 
ship  crammed  full  of  women  and  children,  most  of 
them  soldiers'  wives  and  families  going  home  to  escape 
the  hot  weather.  Many  of  them  were  attended  by 
ayahs. 

Two  days  out  we  ran  into  a  raging  storm,  and  every- 
thing was  battened  down.  Owing  to  the  weather, 
and  the  excessive  crowding,  the  conditions  below  soon 
became  very  unpleasant,  and  I  asked  the  captain  if  I 
might  take  possession  of  the  ladies'  summer  drawing- 
room  on  the  upper  deck  and  close  to  the  bridge.  See- 
ing that  it  would  not  be  used  by  any  one  else  for  some 
time  to  come  he  kindly  agreed,  and  I  at  once  settled 
myself  in  my  eyrie  with  a  few  books,  and  prepared 
for  some  days  of  solitude. 

But  as  the  storm  did  not  abate  the  suffering  women 
and  children  below  claimed  my  attention.  They  were 
confined  in  an  atmosphere  which  was  appalling,  they 
were  all  terribly  ill  and  utterly  helpless.  The  mothers 
were  unable  to  attend  to  their  children,  most  of  whom 
were  infants,  and  the  ayahs  suffered  horribly.  Hav- 
ing no  cabins  they  lay  groaning  on  the  floors  of  the 

146 


PEACOCK'S  FEATHERS  147 

corridors,  drenched  with  water  as  the  ship  was  awash 
from  stem  to  stern,  and  tossed  hither  and  thither  as 
she  rolled  heavily. 

It  was  never  easy  to  descend  from  my  perch  aloft, 
but  the  sufferers  had  to  be  aided,  and  day  after  day 
I  never  knew  a  dry  moment  till  I  lay  down  at  night. 
So  far  the  summer  drawing-room  remained  fairly 
water-tight  in  spite  of  being  swept  continually  by  heavy 
seas,  but  the  noise  of  the  elements  was  absolutely  deaf- 
ening, and  when  the  captain  called  upon  me  we  had 
to  shout  in  each  other's  ears. 

With  his  connivance  I  got  a  shelter  rigged  up  on 
what  appeared  to  be  the  only  dry  spot  on  board.  It 
was  about  twelve  feet  square  and  walled  in  with  sail- 
cloth, and  there  the  sailors  helped  to  carry  a  number 
of  tiny  children.  They  were  to  remain  there  during 
the  best  hours  of  the  day,  until  their  mothers  and 
nurses  were  capable  of  attending  to  them  once  more. 

I  took  charge  at  first  and  found  my  task  no  light 
one.  The  babies  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  my  blan- 
dishments. They  cried  persistently,  but  luckily  their 
voices  were  drowned  in  the  roaring  of  the  wind. 

At  last  a  cabin  boy  chanced  to  look  in,  and  at  once 
sized  up  the  situation.  He  signaled  to  me  that  he 
knew  of  something  that  would  ease  the  tension  and 
then  he  disappeared.  In  five  minutes  he  was  back 
brandishing  a  large  bunch  of  peacock's  feathers.  These 
he  shook  in  the  face  of  each  infant  in  turn,  at  the 
same  time  making  the  most  hideous  grimaces  at  them. 
It  was  an  anxious  moment  for  me,  but  luckily  the  ef- 
fect was  electrical.  The  babies  suddenly  forgot  to 
yell,  they  stiffly  maintained  their  equilibrium  and  stared 
in  a  sort  of  indignant  amazement.  Then,  gradually, 
as  the  boy  kept  going  round  the  circle  repeating  the  pro- 


148  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

cess,  smiles  and  dimples  began  to  appear,  and  in  five 
minutes  more  the  whole  creche  was  laughing. 

I  applied  for  permission  to  annex  that  boy;  he  was 
indeed  a  treasure,  and  the  joy  in  the  peacock's  feathers 
never  palled.  His  gutta-percha  face  had  an  infinite  va- 
riety of  expression,  which  he  could  instantly  turn  on 
to  suit  all  occasions.  It  was  a  fascinating  sight  to  see 
him  going  round  the  group  feeding  each  baby  out  of 
the  same  bottle,  one  of  the  old-fashioned  horrors  with 
a  long  indiarubber  tube  and  teat.  Those  infants  who 
had  contemptuously  rejected  all  my  offers  of  nourish- 
ment now  sat  expectantly  agape  waiting  their  turn. 
The  scene  always  reminded  me  of  the  artificial  feed- 
ing of  fowls,  by  the  man  who  goes  round  the  pens 
squirting  liquid  down  each  gaping  throat. 

When  we  landed  at  Marseilles  there  was  a  wonder- 
ful parting  between  the  babies  and  the  cabin  boy. 
They  clung  to  him  to  the  last,  and  howled  dismally 
when  they  were  carried  off  by  their  haggard  mothers. 

One  night,  during  the  height  of  the  storm  I  was 
asleep  on  the  fixed  red  velvet  seat  running  round  the 
walls  of  the  summer  drawing-room.  I  lay  just  under 
a  porthole,  to  which  was  attached  a  rope.  The  other 
end  of  the  rope  was  tied  round  my  arm  to  prevent 
my  being  thrown  to  the  floor  by  the  rolling  of  the  ship. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  was  suddenly  awak- 
ened by  hearing  my  husband's  voice  shouting  in  my  ear. 
(My  husband  not  being  on  board,  but  in  our  home  in 
the  North  of  Scotland.) 

"  Sit  up !  Sit  up !  "  shouted  his  voice  command- 
ingly. 

Considerably  startled  I  threw  myself  into  a  sitting 
position,  and  as  I  did  so  a  gigantic  wave  shattered 
the  port-hole,  and  the  heavy  fragments  of  glass  fell 


PEACOCK'S  FEATHERS  149 

on  to  the  pillow  where  a  second  before  my  face  had 
lain. 

Of  course,  the  water  poured  in  and  over  me  in 
volumes,  and  stopped  my  wrist  watch  at  five  a.  m.,  but 
I  had  got  used  to  salt  water,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  weary  captain  had  waded  in,  and  was  disentangling 
me  from  my  rope  and  congratulating  me  on  my  lucky 
escape. 

I  told  him  how  it  was  that  I  had  escaped,  and  he 
was  not  in  the  least  skeptical.  On  the  contrary,  he 
said  that  he  had  known  some  curious  things  happen 
in  his  time,  for  which  there  was  no  accounting;  but 
he  always  kept  a  black  cat  on  board. 

Had  the  safety  of  his  ship  not  claimed  his  whole 
attention  I  believe  he  would  have  told  me  some  of 
his  experiences,  but  when,  at  last,  the  weather  abated 
he  was  too  much  in  need  of  rest  to  be  bothered  by 
any  one. 

My  husband  had  no  knowledge  of  the  service  he 
had  rendered  me.  At  five  a.  m.  that  morning  he  was 
asleep  at  home,  and  had  no  premonition  of  danger,  or 
any  recollection  on  waking  of  the  role  his  astral  coun- 
terpart had  undoubtedly  played. 

What  is  this  astral  counterpart  of  man?  His  soul 
and  spirit  dwells  in  a  shroud  of  flesh,  and  the  feat  of 
getting  out  of  that  shroud  of  flesh  at  will  is  the  aim 
of  all  occultists.  It  is  to  the  astral  world  they  go,  soul 
and  spirit  encased  in  the  astral  sheath  we  term  the 
astral  body. 

During  sleep,  or  in  trance,  when  the  normal  physical 
senses  are  in  abeyance,  when  the  body  is  unconscious 
in  sleep,  the  mind  continues  to  act  in  the  realm  corre- 
sponding to  the  suggestions  given  when  awake.  The 
world  at  large  is  open  to  the  highly  developed  man,  and 


150  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

he  will  sometimes  bring  back  from  his  astral  plane 
expeditions  memories  of  what  he  has  seen  and  heard. 

In  deep  slumber  the  physical  body  in  healthful  re- 
pose remains  where  it  has  lain  down  to  rest,  but  the 
man's  higher  principles,  the  astral  body  encasing  the 
soul  and  spirit,  is  invariably  withdrawn,  and  in  under- 
developed persons  hovers  i-n  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood. In  such  cases  the  higher  principles,  the  astral 
body,  soul  and  spirit  of  St.  Paul's  Gospel,  are  not  suf- 
ficiently developed  to  roam,  and  remain  near  the  physi- 
cal body  in  a  brooding  sleep.  All  cultured  persons 
in  the  present  day  have  their  astral  senses  fairly  well 
developed,  and  have  the  power  during  sleep  to  go 
where  they  will,  but  as  yet  few  have  the  power  to  re- 
tain the  memory  of  it  when  returning  to  the  body. 

In  some  cases  the  astral  man  during  sleep  is  specially 
attracted  to  some  one  point,  and  he  invariably  travels 
towards  it;  in  other  cases  he  will  drift  aimlessly  about 
on  the  astral  currents,  meeting  with  experience  of  all 
sorts  and  with  people  in  a  similar  condition  whom  he 
knows.  Is  there  anything  very  extraordinary  in  all 
this,  and  is  not  the  condition  of  deep  unconscious 
sleep  a  demonstration  in  itself  that  the  physical  con- 
sciousness has  departed  elsewhere  ?  As  it  is  no  longer 
functioning  on  the  Physical  plane  clearly  it  has  found 
another  realm  in  which  it  can  temporarily  exercise 
its  activities. 

My  husband  once  had  a  rather  interesting  experi- 
ence of  his  own,  on  the  Astral  plane.  He  was  in  bed 
and  asleep  on  the  Physical  plane,  and  he  believes  that 
the  time  must  have  been  between  eleven  p.  m.  and 
twelve  a.  m.  He  simply  became  aware  that  he  was 
functioning  consciously  on  the  Astral  plane,  and  was 
intensely  interested. 


PEACOCK'S  FEATHERS  151 

He  found  himself  in  a  strange  house  of  medium 
size,  and  he  was  floating  at  the  top  of  a  flight  of  stairs 
leading  to  an  ordinary  entrance  hall  below.  At  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  hung  a  lighted  lamp,  and  below  the 
lamp  stood  a  man  and  woman,  who  were  apparently 
exchanging  a  word  or  two  before  bidding  each  other 
good-night. 

My  husband  instantly  conceived  the  idea  of  testing 
and  proving  his  belief,  that  he  was  consciously  afloat 
on  the  Astral  plane.  If  this  belief  was  true,  then  he 
ought  to  be  able  to  pass  through  the  couple  standing 
below,  without  their  being  in  the  least  aware  of  his 
presence. 

In  a  flash  he  was  downstairs,  and  his  belief  stood 
the  test.  His  imponderable  astral  body  passed  with- 
out feeling  or  shock  through  two  ponderable  bodies 
of  flesh  and  blood,  and  he  was  out  on  the  other  side. 
The  excitement  of  the  adventure  awakened  him,  and 
he  brought  back  to  the  Physical  plane  a  clear  recollec- 
tion of  all  that  had  happened. 

When  one  thinks  of  it,  the  possible  presence  of 
total  strangers  in  one's  house  is  rather  alarming. 
Luckily  for  us  such  wanderers  rarely  bring  back  to 
waking  consciousness  the  memory  of  their  nocturnal 
escapades.  When  we  are  more  advanced  in  "  other 
side  "  knowledge  we  will  doubtless  refrain  from  in- 
truding upon  the  privacy  of  our  neighbors'  dwellings, 
and  confine  our  attentions  to  realms  which  are  free 
to  all. 

It  is  curious  how  constantly  one  hears  of  the  ghosts 
of  priests  and  monks  being  seen.  I  have  not  met  any 
one  yet  who  has  encountered  the  wraith  of  an  An- 
glican parson,  or  a  Nonconformist  preacher.  I  won- 
der why?  I  presume  the  latter  do  sometimes  "  walk." 


152  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Once  upon  a  time,  when  we  were  in  Rome,  my 
husband  and  I  went  to  keep  an  appointment  with 
Monsignor  Stonor,  who  was  a  great  celebrity,  and  an 
extremely  handsome  and  charming  man.  We  were 
being  shown  upstairs  by  a  servant,  and  the  hour  was 
eleven  o'clock  on  a  sunny  spring  day.  I  was  walking 
first,  my  husband  following,  and  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  coming  slowly  downward,  was  an  old  priest 
carrying  a  huge  portfolio,  under  which  he  seemed  to 
be  staggering.  He  passed  the  servant,  and  as  he 
neared  me  I  noticed  that  the  cassock  which  he  wore 
was  torn  in  great  rents  in  several  places.  His  gray 
hair  hung  on  his  shoulders,  though  his  crown  was 
shaven,  and  his  face  was  the  color  of  old  ivory. 

I  moved  slightly  to  give  him  and  his  burden  room 
to  pass,  and  as  he  did  so  our  eyes  met.  His  were 
very  strange.  They  were  exactly  like  points  of  live 
flame. 

Something  about  his  whole  presence  struck  me  as 
so  weird  that  I  turned  involuntarily  and  looked  back. 

As  I  did  so,  I  saw  my  husband  walk  straight  through 
him.  My  husband  saw  nothing.  Then  I  knew  and 
understood. 

I  did  not  mention  this  incident  to  Monsignor 
Stonor,  but  some  time  after  I  met  his  sister,  Vis- 
countess Clifden,  at  Monte  Carlo.  She  was  an  inti- 
mate friend  of  mine,  and  one  day  when  an  opportunity 
offered  I  told  her  the  little  story,  and  asked  her  if  she 
had  ever  met  with  anything  of  the  sort  herself.  She 
replied  that  personally,  she  had  not,  but  she  had  heard 
that  several  people  encountered  at  different  times  the 
old  priest  in  her  brother's  rooms,  though  he  himself 
had  seen  nothing  of  this  apparition. 

Lady  Clifden  enjoyed  nothing  more  than  a  little 


PEACOCK'S  FEATHERS  153 

flutter  at  the  tables.  She  never  missed  a  single  day 
during  her  long  sojourns  at  Monte  Carlo. 

Every  one  knows  that  the  Anglican  church-goers 
in  the  Principality  hurry  from  church  to  gaming  rooms 
in  order  to  stake  on  the  numbers  of  the  hymns.  Lady 
Clifden  used  also  to  hurry  from  Mass  with  any  num- 
bers she  had  caught  up,  and  she  considered  Sunday 
her  lucky  day.  Suddenly  her  luck  changed. 

She  told  me  that  on  the  previous  Sunday  she  had 
just  pulled  off  a  nice  little  coup,  and  was  about  to 
grasp  it,  when,  to  her  horror  she  saw  a  skeleton  hand 
stretched  forth.  Before  she  could  collect  her  scattered 
senses  the  skeleton  hand  had  raked  in  her  gold. 
Where  that  gold  had  gone  to  worried  and  puzzled  her 
dreadfully.  So  it  did  me!  I  never  heard  the  last 
of  it.  She  could  not  get  over  her  loss. 

It  was  no  use  suggesting  that  the  hand  had  belonged 
to  one  of  the  emaciated  harpies  who  prey  upon  the 
unwary.  Lady  Qi f den  knew  all  about  them,  and  was 
a  match  for  the  whole  gang,  had  they  attacked  her. 
She  insisted  that  the  hand  that  had  grasped  her  gold 
had  neither  skin  nor  flesh  upon  it,  and  that  she  had 
seen  the  two  bare  arm  bones  from  wrist  to  elbow. 
We  compromised  on  the  suggestion  of  a  third  party 
that  it  must  have  been  the  devil  himself,  and  that  the 
heat  he  is  supposed  to  engender  had  melted  the  gold 
entirely  away. 

Monte  Carlo  is  a  very  interesting  place  for  the 
clairvoyant  to  be  in,  more  especially  if  her  vision  ex- 
tends to  seeing  auras.  Perhaps  nowhere  on  earth  are 
the  basest  human  passions  more  swiftly  and  violently 
aroused,  and  several  times,  when  some  tragedy  was 
being  enacted,  or  some  enormous  coup  was  being 
brought  off,  I  have  been  unable  to  see  details,  because 


154  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

they  were  hidden  within  a  dense  envelop  of  dark  crim- 
son clouds. 

In  the  rooms  a  crowd  collects  swiftly,  and  from 
a  hundred  human  auras,  all  gathered  in  one  compact 
mass,  stream  forth  emanations  of  the  basest  descrip- 
tion. Cupidity,  envy,  revenge,  lust  of  the  vilest,  de- 
spair, ruin,  death. 

I  remember  being  met  one  night  by  a  friend  in  the 
Attrium  who  was  very  excited.  "  Hurry  up,"  she 
cried,  "  the  double  Duchess  has  broken  the  bank  and 
is  still  playing." 

I  went  into  the  gambling  rooms,  and  looked  for 
the  table  at  which  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  was 
staking.  I  knew  she  would  attract  a  big  crowd  if  she 
was  winning. 

I  found  the  table  easily  enough,  not  because  it  was 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  people,  but  because  it  was 
hidden  by  a  dark  and  dense  crimson  fog. 

With  patience  I  got  through  this  fog,  and  watched 
the  handsome  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  formerly 
Duchess  of  Manchester,  and  born  a  Hanoverian,  play- 
ing with  a  great  quantity  of  gold,  and  a  pile  of  thou- 
sand franc  notes.  By  bending  low  down,  almost  level 
with  the  table,  I  found  I  got  completely  out  of  the 
fog,  and  could  see  clearly  underneath  it. 

One  night  there  was  a  rush  outside,  and  a  huge 
ring  formed  to  watch  "  a  scrap  "taking  place  between 
two  celebrated  members  of  la  haute  cocotterie  de  Paris. 

They  were  fighting  with  formidable  hatpins,  and  I 
understood  that  the  prey  they  fought  over  was  Leo- 
pold, King  of  the  Belgians. 

I  ran  with  the  crowd,  the  gambling  rooms  emptied 
in  a  twinkling,  for  the  combat  took  place  in  the  Casino 
Square.  I  squeezed  through  the  excited  mob  till  I 


PEACOCK'S  FEATHERS  155 

got  behind  the  backers  of  both  parties,  who  were  hold- 
ing the  ring  and  defying  the  police. 

It  was  a  wonderful  sight  to  witness  the  combined 
play  of  flaming  red  auras,  shot  through  with  vivid 
flashes  like  lightning,  and  blazing  jewels. 

The  duel  ended  with  a  few  scratches,  much  tearing 
of  gorgeous  raiment  and  disheveled  hair. 

How  interesting  it  was  to  the  mystic  to  feel  the 
psychology  of  that  crowd,  and  see  the  thin  veneer  of 
civilization  stripped  off,  leaving  nothing  but  the  human 
tiger  and  ape.  Both  ladies  were  eventually  led  off  the 
arena  by  the  police,  not,  be  it  understood,  to  the  police- 
station,  but  to  their  own  sumptuous  apartments.  All 
the  time  they  shrieked  and  chattered  like  infuriated 
macaws,  and  between  the  shrieks  they  administered 
resounding  smacks  upon  the  cheeks  of  their  patient 
escort. 

Monte  Carlo  was  a  wonderful  place  in  those  days, 
in  which  to  study  human  nature  at  its  best  and  worst. 
In  latter  years  it  has  become  meretricious  and  shabby, 
and  the  old  magnificence  is  seen  no  more.  Fifteen 
to  twenty  years  ago  all  that  was  greatest  in  Europe, 
Asia,  and  the  Americas,  congregated  there,  and 
crowned  heads  mingled  freely  with  the  scum  of  the 
earth.  Constant  habitues  were  the  Duchess  of  Devon- 
shire, and  her  son,  Lord  Charles  Montague;  the 
Duchess  of  Montrose,  known  to  the  ring  at  New- 
market as  "  Bobs,"  and  always  the  personification,  to 
listen  to  and  look  at,  of  a  Thames  bargee.  Leopold 
of  Belgium,  Ferdinand  of  Bulgaria,  Grand  Dukes  of 
Russia,  potentates  from  India,  all  hobnobbing  together 
and  gambling  heavily. 

I  often  wonder  now  what  has  befallen  those  brilliant 
stars  of  the  half-world  firmament.  Emmeline  d'Alen- 


156  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

c.on  with  her  "  bobbed  "  hair,  and  her  passionate  love 
of  animals  and  birds.  The  demure  Jeanne  Ray,  who 
came  out  every  morning  to  her  garden  gate,  and  dis- 
tributed food  to  the  crowd  of  paupers  and  cripples. 
I  have  seen  peasants  kiss  the  hem  of  her  dress  as  she 
walked  on  an  afternoon  along  the  Promenade  des 
Anglais.  The  beautiful,  soulless  Merode,  the  fierce, 
stately  Otero,  and  many  others  who  thought  nothing 
of  wearing  fifty  to  a  hundred  thousand  pounds'  worth 
of  jewels  on  one  evening. 

Where   are    they   now?     If   living   they    are   old! 
Old!  a  word  more  dreaded  by  their  class  than  death. 


' 

• 


I, 


CHAPTER  XIII 

I    COMMIT    MURDER 

I  WILL  now  relate  a  very  unpleasant  experience 
that  befell  me  thirty  years  ago,  but  which  has 
by  no  means  exhausted  itself  in  the  passage  of 
years.  It  still,  at  long  intervals,  recurs  to  me  as 
vividly  as  when  first  I  passed  through  the  painful  hours 
of  its  unfoldment. 

It  was  the  month  of  July,  and  I  was  making  a  tour 
by  road  through  a  portion  of  Scotland,  driving  my 
own  horse.  I  was  accompanied  by  a  groom  and  a 
maid. 

One  evening  we  arrived  at  a  well-known  inn  on 
Deeside,  where  I  had  arranged  to  pass  a  couple  of 
nights.  I  found  my  room  ready  for  me,  an  ordinary 
hotel  bedroom,  and  after  supper  I  retired  very  early 
to  bed,  feeling  very  sleepy  after  a  long  day  in  the 
open  air. 

Towards  morning  I  had  a  vision.  I  was  a  woman 
who  had  committed  the  crime  of  murder;  and  I  went 
in  hourly  terror  of  discovery  and  arrest,  as  the  police 
were  actively  in  search  of  the  criminal.  Up  to  the 
present  I  had  succeeded  in  evading  them,  and  no 
shadow  of  suspicion  had  yet  fallen  upon  me,  but  I 
lived  in  constant  haunting  dread  that  sooner  or  later 
some  chance  clue  would  direct  their  attention  to  me, 
and  I  should  be  arrested  and  brought  up  for  trial. 

I  had  no  clue  in  the  vision  as  to  how  the  murder 

157 


158  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

had  been  committed.  My  victim  was  a  man,  and  a 
sensation,  vague  and  cloudy,  suggested  that  a  quick 
poison  was  the  mode  of  destruction  I  used,  but  I  never 
gathered  why  I  murdered  him,  or  what  relation,  if 
any,  he  was  to  me. 

The  vision  was  confined  to  my  miserable  sensations 
of  fear  of  detection,  and  the  trouble  was  that  I  seemed 
utterly  powerless  to  keep  away  from  the  scene  of  my 
crime,  a  large  mansion  in  the  West  End  of  London. 

Not  only  did  I  haunt  the  outside  of  the  house,  but 
I  had  several  times  contrived  to  penetrate  into  the 
interior  without  being  discovered,  the  house  having 
stood  empty  since  the  crime. 

It  was  a  dark,  foggy  night  when  I  determined  again 
to  effect  an  entrance,  and  I  listened  intently  in  the 
street  before  darting  up  to  the  front  door  and  fitting 
my  key  in  the  lock.  There  was  not  a  sound,  and  I 
found  myself  in  the  interior  with  the  door  softly 
closed  behind  me. 

I  carried  a  candle,  which  I  was  about  to  light,  when 
I  saw  that  the  large  hall  was  not  in  its  usual  darkness. 
A  dim  light  burned  in  a  pendant  globe,  and  looking 
round  I  perceived  abundant  evidences  that  the  house 
was  again  occupied.  Several  pairs  of  men's  gloves 
were  neatly  folded  on  the  hall  table,  and  a  man's 
silk  hat  was  neatly  covered  with  a  cloth.  There  was 
not  the  faintest  sound  to  be  heard  in  the  house,  and 
the  hour  was  between  eleven  and  midnight. 

Very  softly  I  crept  up  the  wide  staircase.  My 
heart  was  beating  tumultuously,  and  I  was  in  an  agony 
of  apprehension.  On  the  first  corridor  I  entered  the 
room  where  I  had  concealed  the  body  of  the  man  I 
had  murdered.  I  had  dragged  it  there  and  hidden 
it  in  a  great  dress  wardrobe.  I  opened  the  wardrobe 


I  COMMIT  MURDER  159 

door  and  found  the  interior  had  been  filled  with  wo- 
men's clothes,  they  were  swathed  in  linen  sheets. 
Amongst  them  I  began  to  search  with  both  hands, 
but,  of  course,  found  no  signs  of  the  body,  which  had 
long  since  been  removed.  However,  in  some  unac- 
countable way  the  action  of  searching  seemed  to  com- 
fort me,  and  soon  I  turned  to  retrace  my  steps  and  gain 
the  street  once  more. 

At  that  second  I  heard  some  one  approaching,  and 
quick  as  thought  I  slipped  into  the  wardrobe  and 
pulled  the  door  close.  Some  one  entered  the  room  and 
then  left  it  again.  In  a  few  more  moments  the  house 
was  again  silent  as  the  grave,  and  I  began  to  creep 
downstairs  very  softly. 

When  halfway  down,  at  a  bend  which  brought  me 
in  full  view  of  the  hall  and  the  front  door  in  the  back- 
ground, I  stopped  short  at  a  sound. 

Some  one  was  about  to  enter,  some  one  was  fum- 
bling with  a  latch  key  at  the  other  side  of  that  door. 
Another  moment  and  that  some  one  would  enter  and 
I  would  be  discovered.  There  was  but  one  chance. 
Whoever  it  was  might  not  come  upstairs.  He  or  she 
might  strike  off  to  the  left  of  the  hall,  where  a  cor- 
ridor ran  to  that  end  of  the  house. 

I  cannot  attempt  to  describe  my  agonizing  terror 
of  suspense,  yet  I  did  not  lose  my  presence  of  mind. 
Instantaneously  I  decided  what  to  do,  should  the  one 
about  to  enter  elect  to  come  straight  upstairs. 

I  hastily  lit  my  candle,  carefully  shading  it  with 
my  hand,  and  crouching  low  I  peered  through  the 
banisters,  towards  the  front  door.  It  opened,  and  a 
man  entered,  middle-aged,  well  dressed,  a  gentleman, 
and  an  utter  stranger  to  me. 

He  closed  the  door  and  turned  the  key,  but  drew 


i6o  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

no  bolts.  Then  he  threw  off  a  heavy  coat,  and  placed 
his  hat  and  gloves  on  the  .table.  My  heart  beat  to 
suffocation,  as  I  waited  to  see  which  way  he  would 
go.  He  was  whistling  softly  to  himself  and,  turn- 
ing, began  to  walk  across  the  hall,  heading  for  the 
stairs. 

Then  the  moment  for  action  came.  I  knew  now 
I  should  have  to  pass  him  in  order  to  make  my  escape. 
I  threw  myself  into  the  tragic  pose  of  a  somnambulist. 
I  wore  a  long  floating  cloak,  and  I  knew  my  face  was 
white  as  death,  and  my  eyes  wide  with  sheer  terror. 

With  both  hands,  one  of  which  held  the  lighted 
candle,  outstretched  gropingly,  with  distraught  gaze 
fixed  in  wild  vacancy,  I  slipped  silently  down  the  few 
remaining  steps  and  sped  noiselessly  in  my  soft  shoes 
straight  across  the  hall  towards  him. 

Though  I  never  turned  my  eyes  upon  him  I  was 
aware  that  he  had  stopped  dead  short,  and  was  staring 
at  me  in  startled  amazement.  Then  fear  suddenly  in- 
vaded him,  I  could  feel  it.  He  fell  back  as  if  to  let 
me  pass,  as  I  glided  silently  nearer  to  him  and  to  the 
door. 

He  was  backing  away  from  me  now,  then  in  another 
instant,  he  had  turned  and  fled  along  the  corridor. 
One  more  moment  and  I  was  safely  outside,  on  the 
pavement. 

I  woke  up  to  a  brilliant  summer  morning  pouring 
in  at  my  open  window,  but  I  was  in  no  mood  to  enjoy 
its  loveliness.  I  was  bathed  in  cold  perspiration,  I  was 
shivering  with  pure  unadulterated  fear.  I  was  pros- 
trate with  the  violent  revulsion  of  feeling,  from  acute 
dread  of  discovery  to  partial  immunity  on  gaining  the 
street  and  escaping  from  the  house.  The  vividness 
of  every  detail  was  crystal  clear,  and  attended  by  all 


I  COMMIT  MURDER  161 

the  violent  emotions  such  an  adventure  and  escape 
would  naturally  arouse  in  me,  had  they  happened  in 
the  world  of  realities. 

It  was  hours  before  I  could  shake  off  the  horror  of 
the  vision,  and  I  left  the  hotel  that  day.  Nothing 
would  induce  me  ever  to  pass  another  night  under 
that  roof. 

I  had  no  recurrence  of  the  vision  till  three  months 
after,  then  it  came  again,  with  all  its  attendant  horrors, 
when  I  was  asleep  in  my  own  bed  at  home.  This  was 
succeeded  at  long  intervals  by  a  vision  of  my  condition 
of  mind  as  an  undiscovered  criminal,  always  evading 
detection,  but  without  the  vision  of  my  return  to  the 
scene  of  the  crime.  During  the  last  thirty  years  I 
have  had  recurrences  of  the  complete  and  partial  vision, 
but  at  long  intervals. 

A  few  years  ago  I  happened  to  be  standing  with 
my  host  in  an  enormous  stone  hall,  in  one  of  the 
greatest  houses  in  England.  We  were  discussing  the 
house,  and  its  uncomfortable  vastness.  There  were 
suites  of  apartments  in  outlying  parts  where  whole 
families  might  hide  for  days  if  housemaids  were  care- 
less. To  reach  the  dining  and  drawing-rooms  from 
the  bedrooms,  if  one  was  tired,  was  a  real  weariness. 

We  were  looking  up  at  the  great  gallery,  running 
round  the  hall.  It  was  reached  by  four  wide  flights 
of  stairs  at  different  corners,  and  it  was  full  of  all  sorts 
of  recesses,  and  massive  pieces  of  old  furniture  and 
screens.  On  the  spur  of  the  moment  I  said  to  my 
host,  "  Wouldn't  it  be  uncanny  if  we  were  to  see  a 
strange  face  looking  down  on  us  ?  " 

To  my  surprise,  he  answered:  "Oh!  that  has 
often  happened.  I've  often  seen  strangers  looking 
down.  At  one  time  I  took  them  to  be  inquisitive 


162  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

members  of  my  own  household,  whom  I  didn't  know 
by  sight,  and  one  day  I  complained  about  it,  to  the 
housekeeper.  She  looked  very  much  disturbed  and 
told  me  she  had  seen  the  same  thing  herself.  The 
house  is  opened  on  certain  days  to  the  public,  and  she 
was  half  inclined  to  think  one  of  the  visitors  had 
escaped  from  the  crowd,  and  hidden  herself  for  several 
days,  as  it  was  not  on  a  public  day  that  the  figure  was 
seen." 

"Is  it  always  the  same  figure?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  my  host.  "  Always  a  different 
one,  and  always  some  one  quite  ordinary  and  modern 
looking.  The  strictest  orders  are  given  that  none  of 
the  servants'  friends  are  to  be  allowed  in  this  part  of 
the  house,  and  the  housekeeper  has  always  been  with 
us  and  is  thoroughly  trustworthy.  The  fact  remains 
an  unsolved  mystery." 

The  housekeeper  was  a  very  agreeable  old  woman 
of  the  real,  old-fashioned  type.  Very  rustling  in  the 
evening,  in  a  rich  silk  gown,  and  wearing  some  fine 
piece  of  jewelry  presented  to  her  by  one  or  other  of 
the  crowned  heads  who  had  visited  the  famous  house. 
I  had  asked  her  before  I  left  about  these  mysterious 
appearances,  and  she  had  no  explanation  to  offer. 
She  had  ascertained  beyond  a  shadow  of  a  doubt,  that 
they  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  household. 

"  They  were  always  just  ordinary  looking  men  and 
women,  such  as  one  meets  in  the  streets  every  day. 
Sometimes  they  seem  to  have  hats  on,  sometimes  their 
heads  appear  uncovered,"  she  explained. 

This  fits  in  with  a  belief  I  have  always  held  that 
we  constantly  rub  shoulders  with  the  disembodied, 
without  being  in  the  least  aware  of  it  As  the  Bishop 
of  London  once  said :  "  We  will  find  ourselves  exactly 


I  COMMIT  MURDER  163 

the  same  persons  ten  minutes  after  death  as  we  were 
ten  minutes  before  death." 

There  are  many  occasions  when  we  cannot  express 
feeling  in  intellectual  terms  owing  to  the  poverty  of 
language.  One's  life  not  being  a  matter  of  intellectual 
perception,  but  a  conscious  experience,  little  of  it  can 
be  made  known.  The  mystic  life  is  really  incommuni- 
cable. 

We  regard  the  Universe  through  the  lens  of  five 
very  imperfect  senses,  conscious  all  the  time  that 
there  are  certainly  many  more  mediums  for  the  expres- 
sion of  consciousness. 

Perception  is  a  manifestation  of  consciousness,  and 
varies  enormously  in  individuals,  ranging  often  above 
and  beneath  the  normal.  Undoubtedly  perception 
can  be  enormously  extended  by  practice,  not  only  in 
seeing  material  objects,  but  in  approaching  the  border- 
land of  other  worlds. 

The  sight  of  the  Psychic  or  Medium  is  not  so  much 
vision  as  a  consciousness  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
of  others.  It  is  a  sensation  rather  than  a  process  of 
thinking,  sensation  not  as  we  commonly  accept  the 
term,  but  sensation  through  which  mental  objects  are 
realized  with  as  great  a  clarity  of  vision  as  physical 
objects  are  seen  with  the  naked  eye. 

This  intuitive  vision  is  near  akin  to  ordinary  physi- 
cal vision,  inasmuch  as  the  object  seen  has  a  real 
concrete  existence.  The  Psychic  feels  vibrations  and 
absorbs  them. 

My  explanation  of  my  vision  in  the  Highland  inn 
is  that  the  actual  criminal  had  slept  the  night  before 
in  the  room  I  occupied,  and  happening  to  be  medium- 
istic  I  at  once  began  to  absorb  the  vibrations,  and  be- 
came steeped  in  all  the  circumstances,  environment,  and 


164  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

conditions  thrown  off  by  the  criminal  in  connection 
with  the  crime. 

The  vibrations  were  intensely  strong,  and  still 
fresh  and  concentrated.  I  absorbed  them  so  fully 
that  still  at  times  they  steal  back  across  the  threshold 
of  my  subconsciousness,  the  vehicle  which  registers 
and  retains  all  impressions. 

During  sleep,  when  one  is  off  guard,  the  gate  is 
often  ajar,  and  old  memories  and  incidents  steal 
through,  and  range  at  will  through  the  ordinary  con- 
sciousness. 

In  daily,  normal  existence  the  mind  is  merely  a 
whirlpool,  but  undoubtedly  the  criminal  would  con- 
centrate mentally  on  every  detail  of  her  crime.  There 
would  be  a  focalization  of  her  mind;  a  concentration 
of  her  whole  mental  faculties  upon  this  one  single 
subject,  and  when  the  mental  force  is  reduced  from 
its  normal,  dissipated  condition  into  coherency,  its 
power  is  unlimited.  It  is  possible  to  catch  a  physical 
disease  by  sleeping  in  an  infected  bed.  It  is  quite 
as  easy  to  catch  a  mental  disease  by  the  same  means. 
Many  emotions  are  highly  contagious,  notably  fear. 
All  are  invisible  to  human  sight,  and  there  is  rarely  any 
warning.  A  Psychic  may  sense  something  unpleasant 
before  infection  is  established.  In  fact,  this  often 
happens  to  quite  normal  individuals.  Something  in 
the  atmosphere  of  a  place  conveys  a  warning,  is  un- 
pleasant or  uncongenial  and  it  is  avoided.  If  a  warn- 
ing was  conveyed  to  me  in  the  Highland  inn  I  was  too 
tired  to  heed  it. 

At  one  time  in  my  life  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  two 
intimate  and  charming  friends,  Lord  and  Lady  Wyn- 
ford.     Alas!  both  have  now  passed  over. 
Lady  Wynford  was  born  Caroline  Baillie  of  Doch- 


I  COMMIT  MURDER  165 

four,  and  owing  to  her  Scotch  blood,  and  her  relation- 
ship with  many  of  our  great  Scotch  families,  she  was 
profoundly  interested  in  ghosts.  Lord  Wynford,  on 
the  contrary,  had  an  absolute  horror  of  the  subject, 
and  always  left  the  room  whilst  it  was  under  discus- 
sion. Though  very  dissimilar,  husband  and  wife  were 
the  best  of  friends.  She  was  very  handsome  and  a 
brilliant  woman  of  the  world.  He  was  shy,  retiring, 
and  deeply  religious.  A  perfect  example  of  a  true 
gentleman  of  the  old  school,  and  an  aristocrat  to  his 
finger-tips.  I  was  devoted  to  them  both,  and  they 
were  very  kind  to  me  in  giving  me  their  warm  friend- 
ship, though  at  the  time  of  which  I  write  I  was  only 
a  girl  of  about  twenty  years  old. 

At  that  period  the  great  topic  of  conversation 
amongst  ghost-hunters  was  Glamis  Castle,  the  most 
celebrated  of  all  haunted  houses.  No  ghost  book  is 
ever  considered  complete  without  reference  to  this 
celebrated  Castle,  and  the  story  usually  narrated  is, 
that  in  the  secret  room  some  abnormal  horror  lived, 
and  that  the  heir,  Lord  Glamis,  and  the  factor,  had 
to  be  told  of  its  existence  by  the  Earl  of  Strathmore 
in  person.  This  information  was  of  so  terrible  a 
nature  that  it  changed  not  only  the  lives  of  those 
two  men,  but  even  their  personal  appearance.  They 
grew  aged  and  haggard  in  a  single  night. 

This  story  was  readily  discussed  in  old  days  by 
members  of  the  Strathmore  family,  who  were  just  as 
keen  as  outsiders  were  to  probe  the  mystery.  To-day 
it  is  universally  believed  that  the  monstrosity  is  at 
last  laid  to  rest,  and  that  though  other  ghosts  still 
walk  the  Castle,  the  worst  has  departed  forever. 

I  went  one  afternoon  to  see  the  Wyn fords  in  the 
hotel  in  which  they  stayed  whilst  in  Scotland,  and 


166  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

found  Lady  Reay  with  them.  She  was  a  wonderful 
woman  in  her  way,  and  preserved  her  youth  up  till 
very  late  in  life.  Lord  Wynford  was  not  present,  and 
Lady  Wynford  at  once  greeted  me  by  exclaiming, 
"  We  are  going  to  stay  at  Glamis  next  week,  and  Lady 
Reay  has  been  there  and  seen  a  ghost." 

"  But  not  the  ghost,"  admitted  Lady  Reay. 

"  Then  what  did  you  see  ?  "  I  inquired. 

She  then  told  the  following  story,  which  has  a 
sequel :  — 

"  I  had  been  in  the  Castle  for  three  nights  and 
much  to  my  satisfaction  seen  absolutely  nothing. 
We  were  a  very  cheery  party,  and  every  one  was  fright- 
fully thrilled  and  nervously  expectant,  but  we  were 
very  careful  not  to  breathe  the  word  '  ghost '  before 
our  host  and  hostess. 

"  On  the  fourth  night  I  was  awakened  by  a  moaning 
sound  in  my  room,  and  I  opened  my  eyes.  The  room 
was  in  total  darkness,  but  I  saw  something  very  bright 
near  the  door.  I  shut  my  eyes  instantly,  and  pulled 
the  bedclothes  over  my  head  in  a  paroxysm  of  fear. 
I  longed  to  light  my  candles,  but  didn't  dare,  and  the 
moaning  continued,  and  I  thought  I  should  go  quite 
mad. 

"  At  last  I  ventured  to  peep  out  again.  I  saw  a 
woman  dressed  exactly  like  Mary  Tudor,  in  her  pic- 
tures, and  she  was  wandering  round  the  walls,  flinging 
herself  against  them,  like  a  bird  against  the  bars  of  a 
cage,  and  beating  her  hands  upon  the  walls,  and  all 
the  time  she  moaned  horribly.  I'm  sure  she  was  the 
ghost  of  a  mad  woman.  Her  face  and  form  were  lit 
up  exactly  like  a  picture  thrown  upon  a  magic  lantern 
screen,  and  every  detail  of  her  dress  was  clearly  de- 
fined. 


I  COMMIT  MURDER  167 

"  Luckily  she  never  looked  at  me,  or  I  should  have 
screamed,  and  I  thought  of  Lord  and  Lady  I.  sleep- 
ing in  the  next  room  to  mine,  and  wondered  how 
I  could  reach  them.  I  was  really  too  terrified  to 
move,  and  the  ghost  kept  more  or  less  to  that  part 
of  the  room  where  the  door  was  situated. 

"  I  must  have  lain  there  awake  for  two  or  three 
hours,  sometimes  with  my  head  buried  under  the 
clothes,  sometimes  peeping  out,  when  at  last  the 
moaning  suddenly  stopped.  I  opened  my  eyes. 
Thank  God,  I  was  alone.  The  ghost  had  departed. 

"  I  lay  with  wide  open  eyes  till  daybreak.  Then 
the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  run  to  the  mirror  to  see  if 
my  hair  had  turned  white.  Mercifully  it  hadn't,  but 
I  looked  an  awful  wreck. 

"  I  told  just  a  few  people  what  I  had  seen,  and 
contrived  to  get  a  wire  sent  me  before  lunch.  Early 
in  the  afternoon  I  was  on  the  way  to  Edinburgh." 

Such  was  the  story  Lady  Reay  related. 

Thirteen  years  later  Captain  Eric  Streatfield,  who 
was  a  nephew  of  Lord  Strathmore,  and  an  intimate 
friend  of  my  husband,  told  me  exactly  the  same  story. 
He  was  a  boy  of  six  at  the  time,  when  the  lady  of 
Tudor  days  appeared  moaning  in  his  room,  and  he 
said  he  would  never  forget  the  misery  of  the  night  he 
passed.  He  was  very  much  interested  in  hearing  that 
Lady  Reay  had  gone  through  the  same  experience. 
He  told  me  another  extraordinary  story. 

Whilst,  as  a  school  boy,  he  was  visiting  at  Glamis 
Castle  with  his  parents,  he  noticed  that  they  began  to 
behave  in  rather  a  peculiar  manner.  They  were  often 
consulting  alone  with  one  another,  and  constantly 
scanning  the  sky  from  their  bedroom  window,  which 
adjoined  his.  For  two  or  three  days  this  sort  of  thing 


168  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

went  on,  and  he  caught  queer  fragments  of  conversa- 
tion whispered  between  them,  such  as,  "  It  doesn't 
always  happen.  We  might  be  spared  this  year,  the 
power  must  die  out  some  day." 

At  last  one  evening  his  father  called  him  into  his 
room,  where  his  mother  stood  by  the  open  window. 
In  his  hand  his  father  held  an  open  watch. 

His  mother  bade  him  look  out,  and  tell  them  what 
sort  of  night  it  was.  He  replied  that  it  was  fine, 
and  still  and  cold,  and  the  stars  were  beginning  to 
appear. 

His  father  then  said,  "  We  want  you  to  take 
particular  note  of  the  weather,  for  in  another  moment 
you  may  witness  a  remarkable  change.  Probably 
you  will  see  a  furious  tempest." 

Eric  could  not  make  head  or  tail  of  this.  He 
wondered  if  his  parents  had  gone  mad,  but  glancing 
at  his  mother  he  noticed  that  she  looked  strangely 
pale  and  anxious. 

Then  the  storm  burst,  with  such  terrific  suddenness 
and  fury  that  it  terrified  him.  A  howling  tempest, 
accompanied  by  blinding  lightning  and  deafening 
thunder,  rushed  down  upon  them  from  an  absolutely 
clear  sky. 

His  mother  knelt  down  by  the  bed,  and  he  thought 
that  she  was  praying. 

When  Eric  asked  for  an  explanation  he  was  told 
that  when  he  was  grown  up  one  would  be  given  him. 
Unfortunately  the  moment  never  came.  An  aunt  had 
told  him  that  the  storm  was  peculiarly  to  do  with 
Glamis,  and  was  something  that  could  not  be 
explained. 

Lord  and  Lady  Wynford  paid  their  visit  to  Glamis, 
and  I  looked  forward  eagerly  to  their  return  in  a 


I  COMMIT  MURDER  169 

week's  time.  I  went  to  see  them  the  day  after  their 
arrival  back  again,  and  was  met  by  Lady  Wynford 
alone.  Before  I  could  question  her  she  began  to 
speak  of  the  visit. 

"  I  don't  want  you  even  to  mention  the  word 
Glamis  to  Wynford,"  she  said  very  gravely.  "  He's 
had  a  great  shock,  and  he's  in  a  very  queer  state  of 
mind." 

She  paused,  and  I  ventured  to  ask,  "  But  what 
sort  of  shock  ?  " 

Then  she  gave  me  the  following  account :  — 

"  Wynford  and  I  occupied  adjoining  bedrooms. 
We  were  having  a  delightful  time.  Glorious  weather, 
and  a  lot  of  very  pleasant  people.  I  really  forgot  all 
about  there  being  any  ghost.  We  were  out  all  day, 
and  very  sleepy  at  night,  and  I  never  heard  or  saw 
a  thing  that  was  unusual. 

"  Two  nights  before  we  left  something  happened 
to  Wynford.  He  came  into  my  room  and  awakened 
me  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  was  fully 
dressed,  and  he  looked  dreadfully  upset  and  serious. 
He  said  he  had  something  to  tell  me,  and  he  wished 
to  get  it  over,  and  then  he  would  try  not  to  think  of 
it  any  more.  I  was  certain  then  that  he  had  seen  or 
heard  something  terrible,  and  I  waited  with  the  great- 
est impatience  for  him  to  continue.  He  seemed  con- 
fronted with  some  great  difficulty,  but  after  a  long 
pause  he  said  — 

"  '  You  know  that  I  have  always  disbelieved  in  the 
supernatural.  I  have  never  believed  that  God  would 
permit  such  things  to  come  to  pass  as  I  have  heard 
lightly  described.  I  was  wrong.  Such  awful  experi- 
ences are  possible.  I  know  it  to  my  own  cost,  and 
I  pray  God  I  may  never  pass  such  a  night  again  as 


iyo  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

that  which  I  have  just  come  through.  I  have  not 
slept  for  a  moment.  I  feel  I  must  tell  you  this,  in 
fact,  it  is  necessary  that  I  tell  you,  because  I  am  going 
to  extract  a  promise  from  you.  A  promise  that  you 
will  never  mention  in  my  hearing  the  name  of  this 
house,  or  the  terrible  subject  with  which  its  name  is 
connected/ 

"  I  was  speechless  for  a  few  minutes  with  per- 
plexed amazement.  I  had  never  heard  Wynford 
speak  like  that,  nor  had  I  ever  seen  him  so  terribly 
upset. 

" '  But/  I  said  at  last,  '  aren't  you  going  to  tell 
me  what  has  so  unnerved  you  ? ' 

"  He  began  pacing  up  and  down  the  room.  '  Good 
God,  no,'  he  exclaimed,  '  I  couldn't  even  begin  to 
tell  you.  I  have  no  words  that  would  have  any 
meaning  or  expression.  Don't  you  understand,  there 
is  no  language  to  convey  such  happenings  from  one 
to  the  other.  They  are  seen,  felt,  heard!  They 
cannot  be  uttered.  There  are  some  things  on  earth 
I  know  of  now,  that  may  not  be  related  to  the  spoken 
word.  Perhaps  between  a  man  and  his  God,  but  not 
even  between  you  and  me/ 

"  We  were  silent  again  for  some  minutes,  during 
which  he  continued  to  pace  the  room,  his  head  drooped 
on  his  breast.  I  was  really  seriously  alarmed.  I  even 
feared  for  his  reason,  and  I  couldn't  form  the  smallest 
conjecture  as  to  what  had  been  the  nature  of  his 
experiences.  I  was  quite  convinced  of  one  thing. 
What  he  had  seen  was  no  ordinary  ghost,  like  Lady 
Reay's  Tudor  Lady.  She  might  have  amazed  him, 
but  it  required  something  much  more  terrible  and 
awe-inspiring 'to  have  reduced  him  to  such  a  condition 
of  mental  misery  and  desolation. 


I  COMMIT  MURDER  171 

"  I  wanted  to  comfort  him,  to  sympathize  with  him, 
but  something  about  him  held  me  at  arm's  length. 
It  was  his  soul  that  was  suffering,  and  with  his  soul  a 
man  must  wrestle  alone.  I  felt  that  his  deep  religious 
convictions  of  a  lifetime  had  been  violently  dislocated, 
for  all  I  knew  shattered  entirely,  and  I  felt  profound 
compassion  for  him.  I  may  have  had  doubts,  on 
many  points.  I  confess  to  being  a  worldly  skeptic, 
but  Wyn ford's  faith  has  always  been  so  pure  and 
childlike,  and  I  have  striven  never  to  jar  him  on 
religious  subjects.  Now  I  feel  as  if  somehow,  every- 
thing that  he  has  ever  had  has  been  taken  away 
from  him. 

"  At  last  I  said,  '  Don't  you  think  we  had  better 
leave  to-day?  We  can  easily  make  some  excuse.' 

"  He  stopped  and  looked  straight  at  me,  so 
strangely. 

"  '  No,  I  can't  leave  to-day.  I  must  stay  another 
night  here.  There  is  something  I  must  do.  Now  will 
you  give  me  your  promise  never  to  mention  this  subject 
to  me  again?  We  may  not  be  alone  together  again 
to-day.  I  want  to  get  it  over.  Promise.' 

"  I  gave  him  my  promise  at  once.  I  dared  not  have 
opposed  him.  I  was  horribly  frightened.  He  went 
out  of  the  room  at  once,  and  I  lay  thinking  and  shiver- 
ing with  dread.  '  What  was  it  he  had  to  do  ?  Why 
could  we  not  leave  to-day  ?  '  It  was  all  so  mysterious. 
"  Well !  the  day  passed  in  an  ordinary  manner,  and 
if  Wyn  ford  was  more  grave  than  usual  I  don't  think 
any  one  noticed  it.  Then  came  the  night  I  so  dreaded. 
Of  course  I  didn't  sleep  at  first,  I  was  too  anxious, 
and  I  heard  him  come  up  to  his  room  half  an  hour 
after  I  did.  The  door  between  our  rooms  was  closed, 
and  I  lay  awake  listening  intently.  I  heard  him 


172  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

moving  about;  I  supposed  he  was  undressing,  and 
his  man  never  sits  up  for  him.  Then  after  a  time  there 
were  occasional  creaks  which  I  knew  came  from  an 
armchair,  and  I  knew  that  he  had  not  gone  to  bed. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  have  fallen  asleep,  because  the 
next  thing  I  was  aware  of  was  Wynford's  voice.  He 
was  speaking  to  some  one,  and  seemed  to  be  in  the 
middle  of  a  conversation.  When  he  ceased  speaking 
I  strained  my  ears  to  catch  a  reply.  I  could  hear  no 
words,  only  his  voice.  Then  a  reply  did  come,  and  it 
simply  froze  the  blood  in  my  body,  and  I  felt  bathed 
in  ice,  and  had  to  put  my  finger  between  my  teeth, 
they  chattered  so  horribly. 

"  The  reply  was  a  hoarse  whisper,  a  sort  of  rasping, 
grating  undertone,  that  was  not  so  much  a  whisper 
as  an  inability  to  speak  in  any  other  voice.  There 
was  something  almost  inhuman  in  those  harsh,  vibrat- 
ing, yet  husky  words,  spoken  too  low  for  me  to  catch. 
I  knew  at  once  that  no  guest,  no  member  of  the 
family,  spoke  like  that,  and  I  could  not  conceive  that 
it  could  be  a  servant.  What  could  Wynford  have  to 
say  to  any  servant  of  Lord  Strathmore? 

"  A  clock  somewhere  in  the  Castle  struck  three. 
No;  I  was  certain  that  the  presence  with  him,  what- 
ever else  it  might  be,  was  no  human  being  dwelling 
under  the  roof  of  Glamis. 

"  At  times  they  seemed  to  hold  an  argument ; 
sometimes  Wynford's  voice  was  sharp  and  decisive, 
at  other  times  it  was  utterly  weary  and  despondent. 
I  dreaded  what  the  effect  might  be  upon  him  of  this 
awful  night,  but  I  could  do  nothing  but  lie  shivering 
in  bed,  and  pray  for  the  morning. 

"  How  long  it  went  on  for  I  can't  say,  but  the 
conviction  came  to  me  suddenly  that  Wynford  had 


I  COMMIT  MURDER  173 

begun  to  pray.  His  voice  was  raised,  and  now  and 
again  I  fancied  I  could  hear  words.  The  rasping 
whisper  came  now  only  in  short,  sharp  interjections 
or  expostulations,  I  don't  know  which.  The  even 
flow  of  Wyn ford's  words  went  quietly  on,  and  I  began 
to  be  certain  that  he  was  praying  for  the  being  who 
spoke  with  that  terrible  whisper.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  he  might  even  be  trying  to  exorcise  some  unclean 
spirit. 

"  At  last  a  silence  fell.  Wyn  ford  stopped  pray- 
ing, and  I  hoped  that  the  terrible  interview  was 
at  an  end.  Then  it  began  again,  and  for  quite  an 
hour  the  prayers  went  on,  with  long  periods  of  silence 
in  between.  I  heard  no  more  of  the  terrible,  husky 
whisper. 

"  I  fell  asleep  again  and  did  not  awake  till  my 
maid  brought  me  early  tea.  No  sooner  had  she  gone 
than  Wynford  entered,  fully  dressed.  Though  he 
looked  desperately  tired  and  wan,  he  seemed  quite 
composed,  and  as  if  some  weight  had  been  removed 
from  off  him.  He  said  he  was  going  for  a  stroll  be- 
fore breakfast,  and,  of  course,  I  remembered  my 
promise  and  put  no  questions.  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  a  hundred  people  may  stay  any  length 
of  time  at  Glamis  and  see  or  hear  nothing.  The  hun- 
dred and  first  may  receive  such  a  shock  to  the  nervous 
system  that  he  never  really  recovers  from  it." 

Such  was  the  mysterious  story  that  Lady  Wynford 
unfolded.  I  saw  her  husband  the  next  day,  but  beyond 
being  graver  than  usual  in  his  manner  I  detected  no 
difference  in  him.  He  never  referred,  even  in  the  most 
indirect  way,  to  his  visit,  but  he  must  have  inferred  by 
my  silence  that  I  had  been  warned  not  to  mention 
the  subject.  Many  others  must,  however,  have  done 


174  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

so,  for  every  one,  who  at  that  period  passed  a  night 
under  Glamis  Castle  roof,  was  eagerly  questioned  by 
friends  and  acquaintances  on  their  return. 

The  only  occasion  on  which  I  visited  Glamis  was 
on  the  night  of  a  ball,  given  in  honor  of  the  Crown 
Prince  of  Sweden.  The  curiosity  of  the  guests  was 
held  in  check  by  servants  being  stationed  at  certain 
doors,  and  entrances  to  corridors  and  staircases,  to 
inform  rude  explorers  that  they  could  not  pass.  It 
is  hard  to  believe  that  such  a  course  of  action  was 
necessary,  but  I  personally  watched  little  parties 
being  turned  back  towards  the  ballroom  and  sitting- 
out-rooms,  showing  that  intense  curiosity  may  even 
prove  stronger  than  good  breeding. 

What  Wynford  saw  that  night  will  never  be  known, 
but  one  fact  remains.  It  left  so  deep  an  impression 
upon  him  that  he  was  never  the  same  man  again. 
He  became  graver  and  more  wrapped  up  in  his  own 
thoughts  month  by  month,  and  the  change  that  ended 
in  his  death  his  wife  attributed  to  those  nights  passed 
in  Glamis  Castle. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  ANGEL   OF   LOURDES 

ONE  lovely  summer  evening  I  was  standing  in  a 
hotel  bedroom,  washing  my  hands.  I  was  in 
Lourdes,  an3  I  was  pondering  upon  a  certain 
long  flight  of  stone  steps  that  I  could  see  quite  clearly 
from  my  window.  At  the  top  of  the  steps,  which  were 
cut  in  the  face  of  the  wooded  hillside,  stood  a  great 
Calvary,  and  from  dawn  till  darkness  pilgrims  made 
the  hard  ascent  upon  their  knees.  The  stones  were 
worn  and  grooved  by  the  stream  of  human  beings 
making  their  painful  way  to  the  foot  of  the  Cross. 

The  atmosphere  of  Lourdes  is  very  impressive  to 
the  Psychic.  One  breathes  the  concentrated  essence 
of  prayer.  No  one  goes  there  who  is  not  on  prayer 
intent,  and  in  the  public  streets,  gardens  and  churches 
one  comes  across  kneeling  figures  lost  in  Divine  con- 
templation. No  one  heeds  them;  all  are  on  a  like 
mission,  and  sometimes  men  and  women  stand  for 
hours  with  outstretched  arms.  Human  crosses,  ob- 
livious to  all,  lost  in  a  mystic  rapture  which  takes 
count  of  neither  time  nor  place. 

I  turned  my  head  towards  the  window.  The  sun 
had  just  set  behind  the  mountains,  and  the  sky  was 
illuminated  by  a  rosy  afterglow.  Down  in  the  valley 
the  shadows  were  beginning  to  lengthen,  but  I  could 
still  see  the  Calvary  on  the  hillside,  and  the  dark 
human  stream  slowly  moving  up  the  stony  way,  the 
Via  Dolor osa  of  the  Cross. 


176  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

At  that  moment  the  sense  of  a  presence  swung 
into  my  field  of  consciousness,  and  contracted  my 
vague  faculties  to  focus.  Something  moving  in  the 
sky  above  caught  my  eye. 

How  shall  I  describe  the  sight? 

I  saw  an  angel  floating  above  the  mountains. 

The  figure,  wingless,  yet  floating  in  erect  grace, 
was  of  great  size,  and  wrapped  entirely  in  cloudy  gray. 
The  head  was  bare  and  slightly  bent,  as  if  looking 
down  on  earth.  The  movements  were  smooth  and 
gliding,  as  a  feather  floats  in  the  wind.  The  distance 
was  too  great  —  I  judged  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  — 
for  me  to  distinguish  the  features,  but  owing  to  its 
great  size  the  figure  was  clearly  visible  and  deeply 
inspiring. 

It  was  a  vision  on  which  none  could  look  intently 
without  feeling  the  weight  of  a  mighty  awe.  It 
gathered  up  the  wandering  emotions  of  the  heart,  and 
all  a  lifetime's  ideals  of  beauty,  grandeur,  sublimity, 
in  one  serene  presentation. 

The  vision  floated  on  majestically,  across  the  valley 
and  the  little  town  with  its  praying  multitudes.  In 
about  three  minutes  It  had  passed,  and  was  lost  in 
the  pearly  mists  of  the  gathering  night. 

And  whilst  the  vision  lasted  I  was  acutely  conscious 
of  that  innumerable  concourse  of  kneeling  forms  below, 
all  struggling  upwards  to  the  Cross. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  devout,  of  other  faiths 
than  that  of  Rome,  lose  much  by  not  taking  advantage 
of  Lourdes.  For  many  years,  thousands  of  pilgrims 
from  all  corners  of  the  earth  have  bent  their  steps 
towards  the  shrine,  and  poured  out  their  souls  in  a 
passion  of  supplication.  This  tremendous  concentra- 
tion of  faith,  love  and  fervent  adoration,  often  ecstatic 


THE  ANGEL  OF  LOURDES          177 

thanksgiving  for  answered  prayer,  must  find  an  echo 
in  the  Heaven  World  to  which  they  are  sent. 

It  is  so  easy  at  Lourdes  to  feel  that  the  Throne  of 
Grace  has  been  actually  reached,  because  one  can  sense 
the  pathway,  the  ladder  made  by  human  love,  praise 
and  faith,  down  which,  I  doubt  not,  the  Angels  of 
God  are  always  passing.  It  is  easier  to  concentrate 
the  mind  in  a  place  where  religious  thought  has  been 
poured  out  for  many  years,  because  one  insensibly 
becomes  calmed,  and  tranquilized,  and  aided  by  the 
atmosphere  thousands  of  others  have  created. 

At  Lourdes  there  is  nothing  to  attract  the  scoffer, 
and  thousands  of  hearts  filled  with  reverence  and 
devotion  reen  force  each  year  the  already  powerful 
vibrations,  and  leave  the  place  the  better  and  richer 
for  their  presence. 

How  few  people  realize  that  they  have  never  seen 
themselves  ?  How  many  can  tell  what  they  really  look 
like? 

A  very,  very  few  can,  and  I  am  amongst  the 
number. 

I  wakened  one  morning  in  summer,  and  opened 
my  eyes  on  my  sunlit  bedroom  at  home.  Instantly  I 
saw  something  which  thrilled  me  with  vivid  interest. 
I  saw  myself! 

I  was  emerging  out  of  a  corner  of  the  room,  and 
composedly  approaching  the  bed.  There  was  no  doubt 
as  to  recognition.  I  knew  instantly  I  was  looking 
on  my  own  face  for  the  first  time,  and  it  was  something 
of  a  shock  to  discover  that  I  was  more  or  less  of  a 
stranger  to  myself.  I  saw  how  false  a  looking-glass 
can  be.  I  had  not  begun  to  know  myself. 

With  absorbed  interest  I  stared  very  hard,  in  my 
intense  desire  to  imprint  on  my  memory  my  own  image. 


178  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

I  approached  the  bed,  and  as  I  did  so,  I  seemed  to 
shrink,  fade,  and  waver.  Then  suddenly  I  vanished 
—  into  my  recumbent  body. 

For  a  few  minutes  afterwards  I  was  too  concerned 
with  my  physical  condition  to  ponder  on  the  vision 
of  my  real  self.  I  was  tossing  violently  in  the  bed, 
in  an  inner  distraughtness  which  was  most  disturbing. 
Then,  as  my  nervous  system  began  to  calm  down,  I 
strove  to  imprint  on  my  memory  the  recollection  of 
what  I  really  looked  like. 

My  face,  even  in  the  wonder  of  those  few  moments 
in  which  I  had  seen  it,  expressed  emotions  I  had  never 
seemed  to  know.  Nothing  was  as  I  had  believed  it 
to  be.  All  the  traits  that  went  to  form  my  character 
needed  readjusting,  and  all  seemed  curiously  imperfect. 
I  could  not  remember  how  I  was  clothed,  though  I 
had  seen  myself  from  head  to  foot.  I  suppose  I  was 
too  engrossed  in  studying  my  face  to  think  of  my  body. 

The  vision  left  me  with  a  blank  sense  of  utter  dis- 
illusionment and  failure.  Nothing  in  me  was  finished 
or  complete.  My  expression  suggested  a  character 
which  was  horribly  crude,  imperfect  and  rudimentary. 
Looking  at  myself  afterwards  in  the  mirror,  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  lied,  or  that  in  waking  life  I 
wear  a  mask. 

It  is  salutary  to  behold  one's  spiritual  portrait,  a 
thing  not  visible  to  the  mind  alone  but  to  the  physical 
sight.  In  a  flash  comes  the  knowledge  that  dwelling 
in  us  are  forces,  not  yet  grasped  by  mortal  mind,  that 
cry  for  recognition.  There  have  been  moments  in  all 
lives,  I  believe,  when  a  glimpse  is  caught  of  the 
Olympian  heights  to  which  it  is  possible  to  rise. 
Glimpses,  alas !  of  the  evanescent  thing  we  know  our- 
selves in  truth  to  be. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  LOURDES         179 

Sometimes,  on  the  Astral  plane,  it  happens  that 
friends  meet  under  strange  circumstances,  and  one 
figures  largely  in  the  doings  of  another.  The  memory 
of  those  noctural  adventures  is  brought  through  and 
clearly  recollected  in  the  morning. 

One  such  occurrence  I  will  relate,  and  it  is  peculiar 
and  unusual. 

An  old  friend  of  ours,  a  man  who  has  devoted  his 
life  to  the  development  of  his  spiritual  faculties  (not 
to  be  confused  with  the  development  of  mediumship 
and  phenomena),  had  a  series  of  dreams  in  which  he 
appeared  to  be  two  people.  He  himself  was  the  same 
tall,  slender  man  he  is  in  daily  life,  but  in  this  psychic 
experience  a  much  smaller  man  moved  always  on  his 
left  side,  and  somehow  seemed  to  symbolize  his  waking 
personality. 

The  central  figure  in  one  of  these  unusual  experi- 
ences was  a  young  man  who  was  unknown  to  our 
friend,  and  who  had  died  abroad.  His  body  had  been 
embalmed  and  brought  home  for  burial,  and  our  friend 
had  been  shown  photographs  of  him,  and  had  also  com- 
municated with  him  through  automatic  writing.  This 
much  was  imprinted  on  his  physical  memory. 

Now,  whilst  lying  asleep  one  night,  the  spiritual 
counterpart  of  our  friend  became  aware  that  the  body 
of  the  young  man  was  exposed  and  could  be  seen. 
His  companion,  or  other  self,  the  shorter  man  who 
moved  by  his  side,  shrank  back  with  horror  from  such 
a  suggestion,  just  as  our  friend  would  instinctively 
have  done  in  waking  consciousness,  but  he  himself 
was  determined  to  see  the  body,  and  went  straight 
through  a  door  facing  him,  into  a  room  where  it  was 
lying  on  a  low  table. 

Now  comes  the  moment  when  I  began  to  figure  in 


i8o  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

this  experience.  I  was  standing  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  table,  making  vigorous  passes  over  the  young 
man's  body,  which  appeared  to  be  fashioned  out  of 
pinkish  clay.  The  trunk  and  legs  looked  as  though 
I  had  roughly  modeled  them  with  my  hands.  The 
head  was  more  highly  finished.  It  was  sharp  and 
distinct  in  outline,  and  our  friend  recognized  it  in- 
stantly as  being  a  representation  of  the  young  man 
whose  portraits  he  had  seen.  He  stared  at  the  face 
with  great  interest,  and  taking  up  a  cloth,  gently  wiped 
the  cheek  where  a  fleck  of  foam  lay.  This  action 
seemed  to  vivify  the  body,  for  it  began  to  mutter  and 
murmur  indistinctly.  Apparently  it  was  alive,  and 
not  dead. 

Our  friend  relates  that  this  discovery  gave  him 
such  a  shock  that  he  lost  the  thread  of  memory  which 
he  was  bringing  back  to  his  physical  body  on  the  bed. 
The  next  moment  he  woke  up.  My  recollection,  a 
perfectly  clear  one,  of  these  happenings,  was  that  he 
simply  vanished  from  the  scene,  leaving  me  alone  with 
the  body,  which  I  continued  to  manipulate. 

Afterwards,  through  automatic  writing,  our  friend 
was  told  by  the  departed  young  man,  that  this  astral 
vision  signified  the  collecting  of  etheric  matter  to 
fashion  a  body  in  which  he  could  function  on  etheric 
planes. 

On  another  occasion  our  friend  had  the  experience 
of  walking  about  on  the  other  side  with  the  young 
man,  who  was  dressed  in  an  ordinary  tweed  suit,  and 
being  taken  by  him  to  various  acquaintances,  to  whom 
he  was  introduced.  With  the  exception  of  the  above 
experience,  he  believes  that  this  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  seen  him.  The  interesting  point  of  both 
experiences  is,  that  both  I  and  our  friend  brought  back 


THE  ANGEL  OF  LOURDES          181 

on  waking,  a  clear  and  similar  recollection  of  the 
episode  in  which  we  were  jointly  concerned. 

This  friend  of  ours  is  a  disciple  of  "  The  Flaming 
Heart,"  called  by  Catholics  "The  Sacred  Heart." 
He  writes  to  me  thus :  — 

"  I  see  now  more  clearly  than  before  that  the 
Christ  self  within  uses  its  powers  as  a  whole,  just  as 
the  personal  man  uses  intellect,  will,  and  feeling,  all 
three  being  energized  by  love,  which  is  the  element  of 
interest  in  the  several  activities. 

"  So  the  self  of  love  works  out  and  manifests  as  — 

Love  and  Life Beauty. 

Love  and   Power Goodness. 

Love  and   Knowledge Wisdom. 

"  The  Love  element  saves  us  from  wrong  living, 
wrong  doing  or  wrong  thinking.  So  we  go  from 
strength  to  strength,  by  yielding  the  lower  self  to  the 
transmuting  power  of  the  Higher." 

It  was  long  before  I  came  to  understand  the  full 
significance  of  the  Flaming  Heart.  It  was  plain  to 
see  what  its  realization  meant  to  our  friend.  He 
radiates  an  extraordinary  serenity  of  mind,  an  atmos- 
phere of  strength  and  peace,  a  calm  in  the  midst  of 
storm  which  apparently  nothing  can  shake.  Pre- 
eminently, when  in  his  presence,  one  is  conscious  of  a 
commanding  power  which  will  only  be  used  for  exalted 
purposes.  This  clear  subjection  of  the  lower  self,  to 
the  transmuting  power  of  the  Higher  self,  has  worked 
such  marvels  in  him  that  one  longs  to  grasp  the  secret 
of  his  success. 

A  few  years  passed,  and  still  the  heart  of  the 
mystery  eluded  me.  This  year,  1918,  it  came  to  me 
in  a  flash. 


182  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

The  experience  I  am  about  to  relate  may  have 
happened  to  many  others.  To  me,  it  was  a  tremendous 
revelation. 

I  was  kneeling  one  morning  in  front  of  the  Altar, 
at  Early  Celebration.  I  have  always  felt,  through  the 
Eucharist,  the  possibility  of  great  spiritual  develop- 
ment, and  often  there  comes  to  me  at  such  moments, 
a  mystical  response  to  the  inner  mysteries  of  the 
Sacrament.  I  have  never  looked  for  supernatural 
happenings,  hallucinations,  or  psychic  excitements,  but 
my  spiritual  instincts  are  always  alive  and  craving 
satisfaction.  This  they  have  never  before  received  in 
any  really  lasting  degree. 

Now  came  a  new  Divine  illumination. 

Two  clergymen  were  officiating  at  the  celebration. 
I  had  just  received  the  bread  from  the  one,  and  had 
raised  my  head  and  hands  to  receive  the  cup  from  the 
other,  when  suddenly  I  went  quite  blind. 

The  vicar,  who  was  moving  towards  me,  was  blotted 
out.  I  stared  at  a  black  veil  utterly  impenetrable,  and 
I  was  aware  of  a  tremendous  internal  dislocation. 
My  heart  beat  tumultuously,  and  felt  as  if  thrust  out 
of  place.  Then  my  sight  was  restored. 

I  saw  before  me,  not  the  man, 'bearing  in  his  hands 
the  chalice,  but  a  flaming  heart  of  fire,  from  which 
radiated  out  living,  scintillating  streams  of  golden 
light.  They  filled  the  background  with  their  quivering 
radiance,  and  I  was  conscious  of  shrinking  back,  and 
bowing  my  head  as  the  supernal  vision  approached  me 
and  enveloped  me  in  Its  aura. 

The  cup  had  been  transmuted  by  .Divine  alchemy 
into  the  Flaming  Heart  of  love's  sacrifice,  and  I  was 
given  to  taste  of  the  living  waters  of  Life. 

For  a  few  minutes  I  was  quite  unconscious  of  where 


THE  ANGEL  OF  LOURDES         183 

I  was.  I  had  been,  indeed,  caught  up  into  the  seventh 
Heaven.  I  know  now  that  I  acted  mechanically,  and 
to  outward  semblance  I  behaved  in  the  orthodox 
manner,  but  when  I  raised  my  head  again  the  vicar 
had  passed  on  and  the  vision  had  vanished.  Nothing 
had  happened  to  distract  the  attention  of  others. 

I  returned  to  my  seat  conscious  that  I  had  been 
taught  the  meaning  and  marvelous  significance  of  the 
Flaming  Heart.  I  understood  the  words  of  the  great 
mystic,  St.  John. 

"  In  him  was  life ;  and  the  life  was  the  light  of  men. 

"  And  the  light  shineth  in  the  darkness ;  and  the  darkness 
overcame  it  not. 

"  There  was  the  true  light,  even  the  light  which  lighteth 
every  man,  coming  into  the  world." 

I  know  that  the  Flaming  Heart  of  Divinity  dwells 
in  the  breasts  of  all  humanity,  that  the  soul  is  no 
empty  shell,  but  the  shrine  of  the  Divine  Presence, 
and  that  Presence  is  the  Guide  and  Light  of  Life. 

I  have  seen  revealed  the  inner  mystery  of  the  sacra- 
mental life.  Through  a  rift  in  the  veil  of  the  material, 
the  hidden  life  of  eternity  was  symbolized  for  me  in 
the  Flaming  Heart,  the  true  Eucharistic  Mystery. 


•y        "»/j-r 

>  V 

V*i          & 


TO  some  people  life  is  an  unspeakable  tragedy; 
to  others  it  is  a  mere  farce.  To  all  it  is  a 
profound  mystery. 

What  am  I?  Where  have  I  come  from?  Where 
am  I  going?  What  is  this  mysterious  ego  that  thinks 
and  acts? 

From  Darwin  we  learn  that  the  human  body  has 
taken  a  million  years  to  evolve  its  present  form.  Is 
it  logical  to  suppose  that  there  is  no  scheme  of  evolution 
for  the  immortal  soul,  in  which  it  can  preserve  its 
individuality  through  the  ages?  The  mills  of  God 
grind  slowly,  and  what  is  seventy  or  eighty  years  in 
eternity,  in  which  we  develop  the  highest  and  most 
complex  organism  we  can  conceive  of  —  the  Soul? 

Five  hundred  and  thirty-five  years  B.  c.  Pythagoras 
was  teaching  the  reincarnation  of  the  immortal  soul 
in  his  celebrated  school.  Plato,  Socrates,  Aristotle, 
Philo,  Virgil,  Cicero,  Euclid,  the  Egyptians  and  the 
Hindoos  taught  the  same  doctrine.  In  the  days  of 
Christ  the  transmigration  of  souls  was  an  accepted 
belief,  and  in  250  A.  D.  Origen,  the  greatest  of  the 
Christian  Fathers,  was  still  teaching  the  same  doctrine. 
Justin  Martyr  recognized  the  presence  of  the  Logos 
in  Jesus,  and  Socrates  and  Clement  of  Alexandria 
affirmed  that  the  same  philosophy  had  brought  the 
Greeks  to  Christ.  To  this  day  it  remains  the  belief 
of  three-fourths  of  the  human  race. 

184 


THE  ARMY  GENTLEMAN  185 

In  our  country,  though  a  rapidly  growing  faith, 
Buddhism  fails  to  command  the  attention  it  otherwise 
would,  for  two  reasons.  Firstly,  we  have  never  been 
a  religious-minded  people,  and  are  now  very  much 
less  so  than  formerly.  What  are  loosely  termed  re- 
ligious subjects  interest  a  very  few,  and  bore  intensely 
the  great  majority.  Out  of  our  forty-four  million 
souls,  a  mere  handful  are  interested  in  a  future  life. 
The  rest  prefer  not  to  take  the  problem  into  con- 
sideration, though  they  are  ready  to  accept  a  small 
dose  of  conventional  religion,  ready-made  and  pre- 
digested.  Secondly,  faith  in  the  transmigration  of 
souls  in  a  succession  of  physical  bodies  only  becomes 
an  urgent  mental  necessity,  a  vitally  necessary  ex- 
planation of  life's  inequalities,  to  those  who  mix  with 
the  outcast  poor.  Such  persons  are  again  compara- 
tively few,  and,  to  those  of  them  who  think,  life  with- 
out reincarnation  is  simply  an  incomprehensible  and 
chaotic  puzzle. 

Once  the  faith  is  grasped  that  life  between  birth 
and  death  is  only  a  tiny  fragment  of  the  aeons  allotted 
to  us,  in  which  to  develop  spiritually,  divine  harmony ; 
love  and  justice  reappear.  Only  thus  can  one  see  light. 
But  if  the  tardy  growth  of  this  all-sufficient  illumina- 
tion is  slow  to  take  root,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
to  the  ordinary,  well-to-do  person  it  makes  no  appeal. 

"  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?  "  is  generally  answered 
in  the  negative,  and  the  hypocritical  rejoinder,  covering 
a  mountain  of  selfishness,  that  it  is  an  impertinence  to 
pry  into  the  lives  of  the  poor,  is  the  facile  excuse  for 
sitting  at  ease  and  cozening  the  conscience  into  the 
belief  that  the  poor  are  God's  affair.  Even  the  devout 
and  pious,  who  may  feel  deep  compassion  for  the 
sorrow  of  the  destitute,  have  no  spur  to  prick  their 


186       x    GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

mental  apathy,  unless  they  mix  freely  and  constantly 
with  the  poor  and  oppressed.  Only  then  will  come  the 
perplexed  question :  Where  can  I  see  in  all  this  over- 
whelming misery  the  Divine  hand  of  love  and  justice? 

The  Christ  who  established  his  Brotherhood  with 
us,  by  proclaiming  God  the  Universal  Father,  told  us 
that  "  Before  Abraham  was,  I  am,"  and  I  suppose 
that  most  people,  who  accept  anything,  accept  the  pre- 
existence  of  Christ.  Yet  how  few  of  us  can  remember 
anything  of  our  own  past  lives,  and  how  merciful  it  is 
that  we  cannot.  How  utterly  overwhelming  such 
memory  would  be!  The  future  is  as  carefully  hidden 
from  us  as  the  past,  yet  our  previous  lives  have  been 
by  no  means  unfruitful. 

The  experiences  we  have  gathered  in  the  past  years 
of  this  life  are  nearly  all  forgotten,  yet  our  develop- 
ment has  gone  on,  and  the  records  are  stored  in  the 
subconsciousness,  sometimes  to  be  pulled  across  the 
threshold  and  displayed  in  a  complete  panorama  before 
the  dying  eyes.  The  statements  to  this  effect  made  by 
those  who  have  been  resuscitated  when  at  the  point  of 
death  by  drowning,  are  too  numerous  to  be  discarded 
as  mere  fables. 

Undoubtedly  we  all  contain  the  germs  of  sin  at 
birth,  but  few  educated  people  now  accept  the  state- 
ments that  we  are  born  sinful  because  our  parents 
sinned,  or  because  of  the  moral  delinquencies  of  those 
of  Eden.  Certainly  we  all  bear  the  consequences  of 
others'  sins,  but  the  cruel  injustice  of  a  God  who 
deliberately  punishes  present  humanity  for  the  sins 
of  past  humanity  is  too  revolting  a  conception  of  the 
Creator  to  gain  acceptance  to-day. 

This  very  fact  shows  that  we  have  advanced  spiritu- 
ally. So  base  a  conception  of  the  Almighty  is  violently 


THE  ARMY  GENTLEMAN  187 

repugnant  to  serious  thinkers.  The  intuitive  con- 
sciousness of  man  postulates  the  over-ruling  spirit  as  a 
power  representing  perfect  justice  and  love,  and  the 
innate  instinct  to  believe  that  we  ourselves  are  in  some 
mysterious  way  akin  to  this  Divine  Ideal  keeps  ever 
alive  the  belief  in  our  Divine  origin. 

What  is  the  grand  apotheosis  of  each  human  life? 
The  Christ  spirit;  a  scheme  of  regenerative  redemp- 
tion, simple,  natural,  yet  superlatively  grand. 

If  one  asks  whether  the  orbs  in  space  take  pre- 
cedence of  personal  will  and  intelligence,  or  personal 
will  and  intelligence  take  precedence  of  the  orbs  in 
space,  one  has  only  to  ask  whether  builders  or  buildings 
have  priority.  Do  pictures  originate  the  artist?  do 
books  originate  the  author?  If  one  begins  to  study 
with  a  belief  in  spirit  as  power  and  cause,  one  can 
account  for  all  things,  but  to  start  with  matter  as  a 
foundation  is  to  fail  absolutely  to  account  for  either 
matter  or  spirit. 

In  some  infinite  womb  the  vital  Heavens,  the  visible 
Universe  must  have  existed  before  time  was.  We 
see  all  elements  have  their  affinities,  all  stars  their 
course,  all  atoms  their  polarity.  We  see  the  wheel  of 
Ezekiel  symbolizing  the  whole  scheme  and  fabric  of 
Nature. 

Heaven  works  not  only  with  stupendous  immensities 
but  with  small  minorities.  Atoms  of  unutterable 
minuteness  are  streaming  into  the  unseen  atmosphere 
every  second  from  the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  human 
race.  When  the  soul  seeks,  aspires  after  God,  the  most 
vital  of  all  atoms  go  forth  with  the  breath,  as  light 
from  the  sun  to  the  earth.  Surely  we  and  our  angel 
kindred  inhabit  one  house  of  which  the  most  distant 
provinces  are  in  touch  with  the  center  of  all.  Heaven 


i88  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

and  earth  are  bridged  by  the  spirit  ladder  of  love,  and 
the  soul  can  inbreathe  the  spirit  of  God  as  the  body  in- 
breathes oxygen. 

The  contemplative  mind  beholds  every  day  the 
passage  of  things  invisible  into  sight,  the  transfer  of 
the  seen  into  the  unseen,  and  all  is  natural.  The  life 
throb  of  the  palpable  world  is  a  pulsation  going  forth 
every  instant  from  the  eternal  energy,  drawing  out  by 
an  ethereal  medium  from  the  invisible  and  intangible, 
that  which  is  visible  and  tangible. 

I  will  speak  now  of  the  passage  of  a  thing  invisible 
into  sight.  How,  to  me,  it  became  so  I  cannot  tell. 
I  don't  know. 

One  summer  evening  my  husband  and  I  were  oc- 
cupying two  communicating  bedrooms  in  a  London 
hotel,  contiguous  with  one  of  the  great  railway  sta- 
tions. We  had  to  make  an  early  start  in  the  morning, 
and  had  come  there  to  be  near  our  train. 

I  awakened  in  the  early  morning  hours.  The  gray 
dawn  was  just  beginning  to  show  through  the  bars  of 
the  Venetian  blinds  lowered  before  the  two  windows. 
Those  bars  had  not  been  adjusted,  and  they  also  ad- 
mitted a  rather  bright  light  from  a  street  lamp.  I 
judged  it  to  be  somewhere  about  four  o'clock,  but  I 
did  not  look  at  my  watch.  I  was  too  pre-occupied  in 
looking  at  something  else. 

My  bare  arm .  was  stretched  outside  the  coverlet, 
and  I  was  aware  that  what  had  awakened  me  was  a 
cold  wind  blowing  on  my  skin.  The  furniture  of  the 
room  was  dimly  outlined,  and  at  first  I  vaguely  threw 
my  half-open  eyes  around  without  perceiving  anything 
unusual,  but  gradually  my  senses,  shaking  off  their 
drowsiness,  became  aware  of  movement  between  the 
bed  and  the  window.  Something  tall  and  gray  was 


THE  ARMY  GENTLEMAN  189 

wavering  like  a  pillar  of  smoke  betwixt  me  and  the 
struggling  daylight.  I  closed  my  eyes  again  with  a 
creepy  feeling,  a  disinclination  to  look  again,  but  my 
bare  arm,  which  still  lay  outside  the  coverlet,  received 
another  intimation  that  roused  me  to  keen  alertness. 
A  chill  wind  was  blowing  over  my  skin. 

I  drew  in  my  arm  hastily,  and  opened  my  eyes. 
That  tall  gray  something  had  approached  much  nearer 
to  me,  and  now  I  could  distinguish  with  perfect  clear- 
ness the  figure  of  a  man,  but  such  a  wavering,  fluid 
form  that  one  moment  seemed  on  the  point  of  dis- 
solving into  thin  air,  and  the  next  moment  gathering 
itself  together  again  in  clear  cut  outline. 

For  what  seemed  to  me  a  long  time  I  stared  at  the 
gray  apparition.  I  felt  a  cold  fear,  a  rigid  horror 
creep  over  me,  and  but  for  the  recollection  of  my 
husband's  nearness,  and  the  open  door  between  us, 
I  might  have  fainted  from  pure  terror.  I  thought  of 
calling  to  him,  but  something  sinister  in  that  wavering 
shadow  made  me  desist.  At  times  the  form  came  quite 
close  to  the  bed,  but  I  could  never  .see 'the  face  clearly; 
it  was  vague  and  undetermined  in  outline,  in  fact,  not 
completely  materialized.  Not  for  a  second  did  that 
wavering  movement  cease,  that  floating,  shimmering 
motion  'twixt  bed  and  window,  of  what  I  knew  to  be 
the  ghost  of  a  man. 

How  long  this  unpleasant  state  of  things  continued 
I  do  not  know.  I  was  perfectly  well  aware  that  a 
ghost  should  be  addressed  in  sympathetic  terms, 
should  be  asked  if  any  human  help  can  be  rendered, 
but  at  the  time  it  never  once  occurred  to  me  to  speak. 
Gradually,  as  I  watched  that  retreating  then  advanc- 
ing form, 'at  moments  opaque,  then  almost  transparent, 
I  lost  consciousness  and  fell  asleep  again. 


190  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

I  was  awakened  a  few  hours  later  by  a  loud  knock- 
ing at  my  door.  I  slid  instantly  out  of  bed,  turned 
the  key,  and  was  confronted  by  the  chambermaid, 
bringing  my  early  tea. 

"  Who  was  the  man  who  killed  himself  in  this 
room  ?  " 

Luckily,  the  woman  did  not  drop  the  tray,  as  I 
hurled  at  her  this  abrupt  question.  She  set  the  tea 
down  on  a  table  and  turned  to  me  a  scared  face,  as  she 
answered  by  another  question : 

"  How  ever  did  you  find  out  that  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  how  I  found  out.  Please  answer 
me.  I  won't  get  you  into  trouble,"  I  said  firmly. 

"  It  was  an  army  gentleman.  He  shot  himself  here 
the  night  before  last.  That's  all  I  know,"  was  her 
subdued  answer. 

Poor  "  army  gentleman  " !  So  you  were  revisiting 
the  scene  of  your  last  tragedy,  or  had  you  ever  left 
that  confined  space  between  four  walls  which  wit- 
nessed the  supreme  mental  agony  of  the  suicide? 

What  had  prompted  me  to  put  that  sudden  question 
to  the  chambermaid?  I  could  not  tell.  In  the  mo- 
ment of  waking,  slipping  out  of  bed  and  opening  the 
door,  no  recollection  had  come  to  me  of  my  earlier 
experience,  but  betwixt  that  experience  and  my  abrupt 
waking  at  her  knock  knowledge  must  have  been  some- 
how afforded  me  of  the  tragedy.  I  knew  a  man  had 
done  himself  to  death  in  that  room  shortly  before  I 
occupied  it. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  I  read  an  account  of  the 
inquest  held  upon  the  body.  A  rankling  sense  of  un- 
just treatment  had  preyed  upon  his  brain. 

Suicide  whilst  of  unsound  mind  was  the  verdict. 
Poor  "  army  gentleman,"  I  fear  I  could  have  been  of 


191 

little  service  to  you,  even  if  I  had  opened  up  some 
form  of  communication  between  myself  and  your 
disembodied  soul! 

When  one  remembers  how  many  persons  occupy 
even  one  room  in  a  hotel  in  twelve  months,  it  seems 
natural  that  psychic  phenomena  should  be  common 
to  such  houses.  Undoubtedly  many  tragedies  must 
be  enacted  in  every  hotel  within  a  comparatively  short 
space  of  time,  and  one  may,  in  utter  unconsciousness, 
occupy  a  bedroom  in  which,  but  the  night  before,  mur- 
der or  suicide  has  taken  place. 

Some  years  ago,  I  had  occasion  to  pass  a  night  in 
one  of  the  big  West  End  hotels  of  London.  It  was 
very  full,  and  I  had  to  be  content  with  a  very  indifferent 
room  on  the  main  entrance  floor,  and  looking  to  the 
back.  The  window  had  iron  bars  in  front  of  it, 
through  which  one  could  slip  one's  head,  but  not  one's 
shoulders.  The  reason  for  the  bars  was  obvious.  A 
wide  mews  ran  on  a  level  with  this  floor  of  the  house, 
and  failing  this  obstruction  any  one  could  have 
stepped  with  perfect  ease  from  the  pavement  into  the 
room. 

Thrusting  my  head  through  the  bars  I  could  see 
from  end  to  end  of  the  mews.  On  the  left  there  was 
no  exit,  on  the  right  was  a  narrow  lane  running  down 
the  side  of  the  hotel,  and  leading  into  the  main  thor- 
oughfare. The  mews  seemed  very  quiet,  clean  and 
respectable,  and  for  one  night  only  I  decided  that  the 
room  would  do.  I  was  very  tired  after  passing  two 
nights  in  a  train,  and  went  early  to  bed  and  fell  asleep 
at  once. 

I  ascertained  afterwards  that  I  had  been  sleeping 
for  five  hours,  when  I  was  suddenly  awakened  by  a 
loud  noise  of  scuffling  feet,  accompanied  by  a  gurg- 


192  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

ling  choking  sound,  as  if  some  one  was  struggling  to 
find  utterance,  to  gain  breath. 

To  be  awakened  by  a  noise  out  of  a  sound  sleep  is 
always  a  startling,  uncomfortable  experience.  If  the 
astral  body  has  been  wandering  far  afield,  it  has  to 
return  to  the  physical  body  in  far  too  great  a  hurry 
for  comfort.  There  is  always  more  or  less  of  a  dis- 
locating jar  under  such  circumstances.  The  startled 
sensation  is  greatly  accentuated  when,  in  place  of 
waking  to  dead  silence,  one  awakens  to  unaccountable 
and  very  unpleasant  sounds. 

I  lay  perfectly  still,  with  every  nerve  tingling,  and 
every  muscle  taut,  and  listened  intently.  The  noise 
came  from  the  window  which  was  shut,  and  my  heart 
began  to  beat  more  thickly  with  a  dread  and  terror 
which  had  neither  form  nor  shape.  Slowly  I  remem- 
bered the  mews  outside,  and  felt  instantly  thankful 
that  because  of  its  proximity  I  had  shut  the  window, 
instead  of  sleeping  with  it  wide  open,  as  is  my  cus- 
tom. 

Was  murder  taking  place  out  there?  What  was 
that  hideous,  choking  sound,  that  surged  in  with  gut- 
tural gasps  from  out  the  darkness,  and  which  sug- 
gested nothing  so  much  as  a  frenzied  struggle  of  loath- 
ing and  agonized  fear? 

I  lay  shuddering  and  quaking  as  with  the  grip  of 
ague.  My  imagination  instantly  constructed  the  scene 
so  vividly  suggested  by  the  nature  of  the  sounds.  A 
man's  hands  were  on  the  throat  of  a  woman,  and  he 
was  deliberately  strangling  the  life  out  of  her  strug- 
gling body.  I  was  sick  with  unspeakable  agonies  of 
dread,  and  for  quite  five  minutes  I  could  not  sum- 
mon force  or  motion  to  my  limbs. 

If  some  unfortunate  was  being  done  to  death  it  was 


THE  ARMY  GENTLEMAN  193 

clearly  my  duty  to  run  to  the  window  and  give  the 
alarm  by  shrieking  "murder,"  but  now  I  began  to 
wonder  if  that  awful  struggle  was  taking  place  outside 
or  just  inside  my  room.  Though  the  mews  was  well 
lit  my  blind  was  drawn  down,  and  the  room  was  in 
darkness,  except  for  a  faint  reflection  shining  in  from 
a  street  lamp.  I  had  only  to  stretch  out  my  hand  in 
order  to  switch  on  a  light  above  my  bed,  but  a  paralysis 
of  fear  held  me. 

That  noise  of  infinite  pain,  of  frantic,  dying  agony, 
those  convulsive,  ghastly  groans  and  scuffling  of  feet, 
and  wrestling,  writhing  bodies,  were  spell-binding  be- 
yond the  power  of  human  conception,  and  the  most 
awe-inspiring  fantasy.  I  tried  to  reason  with  myself, 
but  the  horror  scattered  all  reasoning,  yet  a  sense  of 
duty,  of  natural  humanity,  and  anger  with  my  own 
fears,  kept  tugging  at  me.  It  seemed  as  if  the  sounds 
were  losing  force,  were  beginning  to  die  out.  I  was 
lying  still  in  abject  terror,  whilst  a  fellow-creature 
was  being  deliberately  done  to  death. 

A  blind  fury  with  myself,  and  the  murderer,  sud- 
denly superseded  fear.  Without  turning  on  the  light 
I  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  knocking  up  against  the 
furniture  in  my  haste,  I  dashed  towards  the  faint 
light  coming  in  from  the  street.  In  another  moment  I 
had  thrust  aside  the  blind,  and  thrown  the  window 
wide.  I  know  I  shouted  out  something ;  I  have  no  idea 
what.  I  thrust  my  head  out  between  the  iron  bars,  and 
looked  to  right  and  left.  I  could  see  absolutely  noth- 
ing. The  street  was  quite  empty,  and  so  well  lit 
that  I  could  see  from  end  to  end  of  it. 

I  drew  in  my  head,  and  stood  there  silently,  and 
quivering  still  with  excitement,  as  one  does  when 
awakened  with  the  broken  fragments  of  an  evil  dream. 


194  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Then,  suddenly,  a  sensation  of  bristling  fear  took 
possession  of  me  once  more,  unreasoning  and  un- 
reasonable fear,  clutching  at  my  heart  with  a  grip  of 
ice.  The  noise  had  not  ceased,  it  continued  more 
faintly,  and  it  came  from  a  corner  of  my  room  to  the 
right  of  the  window.  Murder  had  been  done  in  the 
room  in  which  I  now  stood,  and  was  being  re-enacted 
now.  The  certainty  rushed  on  me  with  the  force  of 
a  whirlwind. 

I  was  dimly  conscious  of  human  voices  in  the  mews, 
of  a  window  being  thrown  open.  My  cry  had 
awakened  other  sleepers.  I  left  my  window  open, 
and  let  the  blind  fall  before  it.  Then  I  crept  softly 
across  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  whence  the 
dying  sound  proceeded.  The  victim  was  almost  dead. 
I  could  hear  nothing  but  a  gasping,  rattling  sigh,  and 
then  silence.  The  silence  of  death. 

I  was  roused  from  my  trance  of  horror  by  the 
measured  tread  of  a  policeman  outside.  I  heard  him 
speaking  with  others,  then,  seeing  nothing  to  account 
for  the  disturbance  in  the  mews,  he  went  away  again, 
and  I  fell  asleep  from  utter  mental  exhaustion. 

When  I  awoke  the  sun  was  in  the  room,  and  I 
looked  towards  the  corner  where  the  tragedy  of  the 
darkness  had  been  enacted.  How  peaceful  and  inno- 
cent the  room  now  looked,  in  the  light  of  a  cheerful 
summer  morning,  and  how  thankful  I  was  to  know 
that  I  would  be  far  away  from  it  in  a  very  few  hours. 

Yet  another  hotel  story  comes  to  me  as  I  write. 

My  sister  and  her  husband  came  to  Torquay  to 
spend  a  couple  of  nights  and  took  rooms  in  one  of  the 
principal  hotels.  They  had  not  announced  their  ar- 
rival beforehand,  and  the  manageress  took  them  up- 
stairs to  see  several  vacant  rooms.  There  was  one 


THE  ARMY  GENTLEMAN          195 

not  shown  to  them,  but  the  door  was  wide  open,  and 
my  sister  seeing  that  it  was  unoccupied  walked  in,  and 
said  she  preferred  it  to  any  of  the  others,  because  of 
its  particular  view. 

For  some  unknown  reason  the  manageress  was 
greatly  against  their  taking  it;  she  raised  every  sort 
of  objection,  but  my  sister  was  firm,  and  finally  the 
luggage  was  carried  up  and  she  began  to  unpack, 
whilst  her  husband  went  down  to  order  tea. 

After  a  few  minutes,  and  whilst  she  was  on  her 
knees  beside  the  trunk,  she  heard  some  one  moving 
in  the  room  behind  her,  but  she  could  see  nothing. 
It  occurred  to  her,  however,  that  some  tragedy  might 
have  taken  place  in  that  particular  room,  which  would 
explain  the  reluctance  of  the  manageress  to  let  them 
hire  it.  Not  being  of  a  nervous  disposition,  my  sister 
thought  no  more  of  the  matter,  and  went  downstairs 
to  join  her  husband. 

That  night  she  was  awakened  by  something,  she 
never  knew  what,  but  on  opening  her  eyes  she  saw  a 
rather  disturbing  vision.  Close  to  the  door  stood  the 
figure  of  a  man,  looking  straight  towards  her.  His 
figure  was  brilliantly  luminous,  and  stood  out  clearly 
and  distinctly  in  the  darkness  of  the  room. 

She  awakened  her  husband,  who  sat  up  in  bed  and 
stared  back  at  the  figure.  He  saw  it  as  clearly  and 
distinctly  as  his  wife  saw  it,  and  for  some  considerable 
time  they  watched  it,  until  it  gradually  faded  out. 

What  is  so  sad  is  that  they  did  not  address  this 
ghost.  They  had  every  opportunity,  for  at  the  same 
hour  the  same  figure  appeared  the  next  night.  It 
never  tried  to  approach  them:  it  simply  stood  there 
quietly  for  about  an  hour,  and  then  vanished.  Prob- 
ably it  was  the  wraith  of  a  suicide.  The  fact  remains 


196  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

that  very  few  people  do  address  the  ghosts  they  see. 
Even  if  they  are  not  afraid,  it  never  seems  to  occur 
to  seers  that  to  speak  to  the  disembodied  might  be  a 
very  kind  and  helpful  thing  to  do. 

On  their  return  home  my  brother-in-law  told  this 
story  to  some  friends  at  his  Club,  and  a  stranger  who 
was  present  said  that  he  was  aware  there  was  a  haunted 
room  in  that  Torquay  hotel,  for  he  knew  some  one  else 
who  had  seen  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AN   AUSTRIAN   ADVENTURE 

ONLY  once  did  I  ever  see  an  elemental  of  the 
terrifying  type,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  re- 
peat the  experience. 

Several  years  ago  I  was  traveling  alone  on  my  way 
to  Bohemia.  With  me,  in  the  railway  carriage,  I  had 
an  aluminum  traveler's  typewriter,  enclosed  in,  and 
fastened  down  to  a  leather  case.  I  had  also  a  large 
leather  dispatch  box,  containing  several  chapters  of  a 
new  novel  I  was  writing,  and  which  I  meant  to  finish 
whilst  abroad. 

At  the  last  moment,  just  as  I  was  starting  on  my 
journey,  a  friend  had  given  me  a  small  Russian  ikon, 
and  I  had  put  that  in  the  box  with  my  writing  ma- 
terials. 

On  reaching  the  frontier  into  Austria,  I  got  out  with 
the  other  travelers,  carrying  the  typewriter  in  my 
hand  to  ensure  its  safety.  A  porter  brought  along  the 
dispatch  box,  and  the  luggage  from  the  van  to  the 
Custom  House. 

I  had  nothing  to  declare  and  said  so,  but  when  the 
officials  came  to  look  at  the  typewriter  and  the  con- 
tents of  the  dispatch  box,  their  civil  attitude  changed, 
and  I  was  curtly  told  that  I  would  have  to  remain  be- 
hind, in  order  that  a  more  thorough  examination 
might  be  made. 

There  was  little  use  in  expostulating,  no  one  took 

197 


198  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

the  smallest  notice  of  any  explanations  I  made,  and 
I  had  the  unhappy  fate  to  behold  all  my  fellow  travelers 
stream  out  onto  the  platform,  and  make  for  the  wait- 
ing train,  and  the  growing  conviction  that  they  would 
proceed  on  their  journey  without  me. 

When  alone  with  the  officials  I  had  the  field  to  my- 
self, and  I  explained  that  I  was  a  British  subject,  and 
a  British  novelist,  but  they  merely  looked  at  me  with 
the  same  blend  of  incredulity  my  fellow  countrymen 
so  often  favor  me  with,  when  they  accidentally  dis- 
cover that  I  am  synonymous  with  the  writer,  Violet 
Tweedale. 

How  well  I  know  the  look  and  the  words  accom- 
panying it :  "  Are  you  Violet  Tweedale,  the  novelist? 
Well !  who'd  have  thought  it  ?  I  never  would  have 
guessed." 

Their  expression  says  plainly  enough,  "  You  don't 
look  capable  of  writing  out  a  laundry  bill,  far  less  a 
novel." 

Seeing  that  my  statements  made  no  impression  upon 
the  Customs  officials,  I  resigned  myself  to  an  unknown 
fate,  and  in  a  few  moments,  looking  through  the  open 
door,  I  had  the  misery  of  seeing  my  train  glide  out  of 
the  station,  leaving  me  behind. 

An  animated  conversation  now  began  which  oc- 
cupied at  least  ten  minutes,  and  my  typewriter  and 
dispatch  box  were  subjected  to  a  most  rigid  scrutiny. 
I  kept  on  imploring  the  officials  not  to  break  the  type- 
writer, but  they  paid  no  heed,  and  at  last,  after  playing 
about  with  it  for  some  time,  they  requested  me  to  give 
them  an  exhibition  of  its  powers.  Alas!  it  was  too 
late.  The  machine  was  thoroughly  upset  with  the 
rough  fingering  it  had  been  subjected  to,  and  I  could 
not  get  it  to  work. 


AN  AUSTRIAN  ADVENTURE        199 

I  saw  that  this  fact  was  set  down  as  another  black 
mark  of  suspicion  against  me,  and  they  then  began 
another  long  discussion  upon  the  ikon.  I  began  to  be 
so  bored  and  tired  that  I  sat  down  on  my  trunk,  lit 
a  cigarette,  and  attempted  to  preserve  a  certain  amount 
of  outward  calm,  whilst  mentally  I  raged  furiously 
within. 

I  noticed  that  a  messenger  had  been  sent  out  of 
the  room,  but  could  not  catch  the  object  of  his  errand. 
When  all  chattering  and  gesticulating  together,  they 
abandoned  ordinary  German,  and  fell  into  a  dialect 
of  their  own  which  I  could  not  understand. 

In  a  few  moments  the  messenger  returned  with 
two  more  officials,  and  a  waiter  from  the  station 
restaurant.  The  waiter  was  given  a  chapter  of  my 
novel  —  each  chapter  had  an  ordinary  exercise  book 
to  itself  —  and  told  to  translate  my  English  into  Ger- 
man. 

I  presume  he  honestly  tried  to  do  his  best,  but  the 
translation  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  original.  Even 
the  officials  soon  wearied  of  the  fumbled  nonsense, 
and  the  waiter  was  sent  away. 

Then  the  head  official  informed  me  that  I  might 
continue  my  journey  by  the  next  train,  but  I  must 
consider  myself  under  arrest,  till  further  information 
concerning  my  business  and  identity  was  obtained. 
He  informed  me,  finally,  that  I  was  a  Russian  spy. 

I  retaliated  by  informing  him  that  I  was  a  British 
subject.  That  my  husband  was  at  that  moment  in 
Bavaria,  and  directly  I  could  communicate  with  him 
he  would  obtain  my  release  through  our  Embassy  at 
Vienna.  Never  did  I  regret  anything  more  than  my 
own  stupidity  in  having  left  my  much-vised  passport 
behind  me  in  England. 


200  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

The  typewriter  was  then  closed  down,  tied  with 
string  and  heavily  sealed.  I  was  ordered  to  carry  it 
myself,  and  place  it  in  the  very  center  of  an  empty 
luggage  wagon. 

As  I  complied  it  flashed  upon  me  that  they  had 
never  seen  a  typewriter  before,  and  suspected  it  to  be 
a  sort  of  infernal  machine.  My  dispatch  box  disap- 
peared altogether,  and  I  got  into  a  first-class  carriage, 
accompanied  by  two  very  smart  attendants.  They 
wore  cocked  hats,  much  gold  braid,  and  many  gold 
buttons,  and  they  each  carried  a  sword  and  a  revolver, 
with  which  to  shoot  me,  I  presume,  if  I  tried  to  run 
away. 

We  three  were  not  alone  in  the  carriage.  In  a 
corner  sat  a  dark  man  with  a  small  black  mustache, 
and  smoking  a  very  long  cigar.  He  was  neatly  dressed 
in  a  long  dust  coat,  and  on  his  smooth  black  hair  he 
wore  a  brown  Homburg  hat.  In  one  dark  eye  was  a 
single  monocle,  through  which  he  regarded  me  with 
a  mild  surprise. 

I  saw  at  once  that  if  I  was  to  be  burdened  with  the 
constant  society  of  my  two  officials  for  several  days, 
the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  make  friends  with  them. 
The  circumstances  had  not  arisen  through  any  fault 
of  theirs,  and  they  had  to  obey  the  orders  of  their 
superiors.  Both  were  men  who  looked  between  the 
age  of  thirty  to  forty,  and  they  had  quite  pleasant  faces. 
I  began  by  offering  them  cigarettes  from  my  case  — 
no  Customs  officials  object  to  enough  tobacco  being 
carried  to  last  out  a  journey  —  and  they  accepted  my 
civility  with  profuse  thanks. 

The  man  in  the  corner  still  regarded  us  from  time 
to  time  with  interest,  and  when  we  had  finished  our 
cigarettes  he  leaned  forward  and  most  politely  offered 


AN  AUSTRIAN  ADVENTURE        201 

us  each  a  big  cigar.  The  voice  of  this  person  so 
amazed  me  that  in  refusing  with  thanks,  and  saying  I 
never  smoked  cigars,  I  looked  very  closely  at  him. 
The  voice  was  that  of  a  cultured  gentlewoman,  and 
that  was  exactly  what  this  person  turned  out  to  be. 
Not  a  man,  but  a  woman  dressed  exactly  to  resemble 
a  man.  When  she  stood  up  I  saw  that  she  wore  a 
divided  skirt,  and  by  the  manner  in  which  my  guards 
addressed  her  when  they  accepted  her  cigars,  I  knew 
that  she  was  some  great  personage.  Later  on  I  dis- 
covered that  she  was  a  member  of  the  Imperial  House 
of  Austria.  She  spoke  English  perfectly,  and  I  ex- 
plained my  position,  which  seemed  to  amuse  her  im- 
mensely. We  found  that  we  had  mutual  friends, 
and  we  were  chattering  most  amicably  when  I  reached 
my  destination. 

Evidently  a  wire  had  preceded  us,  for  other  of- 
ficials were  waiting  on  the  platform  to  take  possession 
of  the  typewriter,  and  I  said  good-by  to  it,  as  I  thought, 
forever. 

The  amazement  of  the  hotel  manager  may  be 
imagined  when  he  saw  me  arrive  under  escort. 
Though  I  had  engaged  my  rooms  he  had  never  seen 
me  before,  and  I  was  secretly  uneasy  lest  he  should 
refuse  to  take  me  in  under  the  circumstances,  but  my 
attendants  appeared  to  possess  unlimited  authority. 
I  was  shown  into  a  good  bedroom  at  the  very  end  of 
the  corridor.  The  manager  spoke  perfect  English, 
and  I  explained  my  position  from  my  point  of  view. 
He  was  quite  civil,  but  I  thought  rather  non-committal. 
He  evidently  did  not  like  the  situation,  but  at  that 
moment  I  had  a  stroke  of  luck. 

There  entered  the  head  waiter,  carrying  the  usual 
paper  of  identification  which  one  always  fills  in  abroad. 


202  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

His  face  was  quite  familiar  to  me.  I  never  forget  a 
face,  but  I  cannot  always  fit  a  name  to  it.  Where 
had  I  seen  this  man  before?  Then  in  a  flash  I  re- 
membered. It  was  in  Egypt. 

When  I  had  filled  the  paper,  both  men  remaining 
in  the  room,  I  recalled  myself  to  his  memory,  and  the 
occasions  when  he  had  waited  upon  some  members  of 
our  royal  family,  to  whose  table  I  had  been  bidden. 
These  occasions  had  been  of  comparatively  recent  hap- 
pening, and  though  possibly  not  being  quite  sure  in 
his  recollection  of  me,  he  remembered  our  royal  fam- 
ily perfectly,  and  several  little  personal  incidents 
that  had  occurred  whilst  we  were  all  in  the  same 
hotel. 

For  instance,  there  had  been  a  very  brilliant  ball 
given  at  the  hotel,  and  the  royalties  had  looked  on 
for  several  hours,  and  included  me  in  their  circle. 
This  man  had  been  specially  detailed  to  wait  upon  the 
circle,  all  the  evening. 

This  conversation  produced  a  great  effect  upon  the 
manager,  who  volunteered  to  make  matters  as  easy  as 
he  could  for  me,  till  the  Embassy  moved.  The  officials 
would  sit  by  the  door,  and  not  at  my  table  during 
meals,  and  they  would  be  accommodated  with  chairs  in 
the  corridor  by  the  top  of  the  staircase,  instead  of  out- 
side my  bedroom  door.  He  regretted  that  they  would 
closely  follow  me  whenever  I  went  out,  but  doubtless 
I  would  communicate  with  my  husband  at  once,  and 
the  mistake  would  soon  be  corrected. 

After  I  had  had  some  tea,  I  began  to  feel  quite 
light-hearted,  and  I  unpacked  and  wrote  to  my  hus- 
band in  Bavaria. 

That  night  when  I  went  to  bed  I  locked  my  door 
securely,  and  composed  myself  to  sleep  after  a  tiring 


AN  AUSTRIAN  ADVENTURE        203 

and  disturbing  day.  I  had  been  in  a  railway 
"  sleeper  "  all  the  night  before,  and  though  I  sleep 
like  a  top  in  a  train,  I  am  always  unusually  sleepy  on 
the  following  night  in  bed. 

It  was  summer-time,  and  very  hot  weather,  and  my 
blinds  were  drawn  up  and  the  window  thrown  wide 
open.  No  houses  faced  me;  I  looked  out  on  a  big 
public  garden. 

I  was  soon  fast  asleep,  but  was  awakened  again  by 
some  noise  in  the  room.  I  lay  still  for  a  little,  listen- 
ing intently,  all  the  unpleasant  incidents  of  the  past 
day  rushing  back  upon  me.  The  noise  was  not  contin- 
uous, but  now  and  again  came  the  sound  of  something 
soft,  dragging  about  the  floor.  The  room  was  fairly 
light,  with  the  glow  of  a  waning  moon,  and  I  judged 
the  hour  to  be  between  two  and  three  o'clock. 

At  last  I  determined  to  ascertain  what  produced  this 
curious  sound.  I  had  an  electric  light  over  my  bed, 
and  I  sat  up  and  suddenly  switched  it  on. 

Then  I  realized  with  horror  that  I  was  in  the  pres- 
ence of  something  I  had  never  encountered  before, 
but  had  often  read  and  heard  of.  An  elemental  of  a 
malignant  type,  and  of  grotesque  form. 

Just  for  an  instant  I  saw  nothing  but  what  looked 
like  an  enormous  pillow,  but  suddenly  out  of  this 
grayish-green  pillow  emerged  a  head  of  frog-like  shape, 
and  two  bright  yellow  eyes  were  fixed  on  mine.  I 
suppose  I  was  too  terrified  even  to  remember  what  my 
sensations  were.  A  sort  of  paralysis  of  fear  and  hor- 
ror held  me  spellbound.  There  it  squatted,  thrusting 
out  its  misshapen  head,  its  yellow  eyes  regarding  me 
fixedly.  I  have  no  idea  how  long  it  remained  there, 
or  how  long  we  continued  to  gaze  at  one  another,  but 
I  gradually  became  aware  that  it  was  receding  from 


204  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

view.  It  grew  smaller  and  smaller,  and  dimmer  and 
more  indistinct,  till  at  length  it  vanished  altogether. 

Elliott  O'Donnell  mentions  in  one  of  his  books  hav- 
ing seen  such  creatures,  and  of  having  had  a  number 
of  such  cases  reported  to  him,  but  generally  as  the 
forerunners  of  illness.  To  such  phantasms  he  has 
given  the  name  of  "  Morbas,"  and  he  believes  that 
certain  apparitions  are  symbolical  of  certain  diseases 
"  if  not  the  actual  creators  of  the  bacilli  from  which 
these  diseases  arise."  This  seems  to  me  to  be  a  reason- 
able explanation  of  such  phenomena,  but  in  my  case 
there  was  no  disease  in  question.  I  was  perfectly  well 
at  the  time,  and  remained  so.  It  is  possible,  however, 
that  a  sick  person  might  have  occupied  my  room  the 
night  before.  One  never  knows  in  hotels,  and  I  had 
not  then  read  O'Donnell's  explanation  and  made  no 
inquiries.  Many  of  the  experiences  related  in  his 
deeply  interesting  books  are  no  doubt  regarded  as  fic- 
tion, but  I  know  that  they  are  cases  common  to  very 
many  psychics. 

For  some  time  I  lay  awake,  fearful  of  a  recurrence 
of  the  horrible  phenomenon,  but  gradually  sleep  over- 
came me,  and  I  did  not  wake  again  till  seven  o'clock 
on  a  lovely  summer  morning. 

That  day  I  took  two  long  walks,  closely  followed  by 
my  escort.  They  walked  immediately  behind  me,  and 
often  we  stopped  to  converse,  or  to  sit  down  to  rest 
and  smoke  a  cigarette  together.  They  told  me  all 
their  family  history,  and  about  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren, and  really  they  made  themselves  as  agreeable 
as  they  possibly  could.  In  the  afternoon  we  climbed 
up  the  mountains  to  one  of  the  many  cafes,  and  had 
chocolate  and  cakes,  which  they  thoroughly  enjoyed. 


AN  AUSTRIAN  ADVENTURE        205 

When  I  finally  went  back  to  the  hotel  for  the  night 
they  complained  of  being  tired,  and  hoped  I  would 
not  walk  so  far  on  the  morrow.  Their  idea  of  en- 
joyment was  the  usual  foreign  custom  of  taking  a 
seat  outside  a  street  cafe,  and  sitting  there  hour  after 
hour  idly  watching  the  passersby,  smoking  endless 
cigarettes  and  drinking  beer. 

That  night  I  prepared  myself  for  a  recurrence  of 
the  abnormal  phenomenon  I  had  witnessed,  and  gath- 
ered up  all  my  courage,  and  decided  to  attack  it  with 
the  Sacred  command.  For  a  long  time  I  lay  awake, 
but  nothing  happened,  and  finally  I  fell  asleep. 

I  awoke  to  pandemonium.  My  room  was  in  a  hub- 
bub of  high-pitched  noise.  Screams  of  glee  and  frolic, 
shouts  of  thin  laughter,  and  pattering  feet  with  little 
thuds  interspersed.  The  sounds  were  all  pitched  in 
an  unknown  key.  They  can  best  be  described  as  or- 
dinary sounds  intensely  rarefied,  and  pitched  in  so 
high  a  treble  that  they  had  run  out  of  the  scale  alto- 
gether. 

It  was  a  much  darker  night,  and  very  hot.  Thunder 
clouds  hung  over  the  town,  and  now  and  again  there 
was  a  gleam  of  lightning  and  a  mutter  of  distant 
thunder.  I  peeped  over  the  edge  of  the  bed,  but  could 
see  nothing.  The  noises  continued  with  unabated 
merriment.  A  hundred  creatures  of  sorts  apparently 
were  playing  round  me. 

Summoning  all  my  courage  I  sat  up  and  switched 
on  the  light.  What  I  saw  must  read  like  pure  non- 
sense to  the  majority,  but  nevertheless  I  mean  to  re- 
cord facts  as  they  happened  to  me. 

About  a  dozen  small  forms,  half-man,  half-animal, 
were  playing  leap-frog  round  the  room.  They  were 


206  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

about  three  feet  in  height,  some  slightly  smaller,  and 
though  their  bodies,  legs  and  feet  were  human,  their 
heads  resembled  apes. 

I  forgot  all  about  being  afraid,  they  were  so  amaz- 
ingly grotesque,  and  they  were  so  thoroughly  happy. 
One  would  go  down  on  all  fours,  and  the  creatures 
immediately  behind  him  would  leap  his  back,  and  so  on 
down  the  chain,  and  all  the  while  they  kept  up  that 
shrill,  high-pitched  note  of  intense  enjoyment. 

I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  the  light 
that  finally  put  an  end  to  their  revels.  They  took  no 
heed  of  me,  but  gradually  their  energies  flagged,  they 
faded  and  became  blurred  in  outline ;  one  by  one  they 
simply  went  out  like  sparks  until  not  one  was  left. 

Though  I  occupied  that  room  for  a  month  I  was 
never  disturbed  again.  Perfect  quiet  reigned  for  the 
rest  of  my  stay. 

At  the  end  of  five  days  a  police  official  came  to  call 
upon  me,  and  informed  me  that  my  identity  had  been 
perfectly  established  by  the  British  Embassy  at  Vienna, 
«and  that  my  escort  was  now  withdrawn.  He  also 
begged  to  return  my  typewriter,  rendered  utterly  use- 
less I  discovered,  to  my  great  dismay,  and  the  dis- 
patch box  arrived  intact  the  next  morning. 

I  have  no  explanation  to  offer  of  the  phenomena 
I  have  described.  They  belong  to  the  many  unsolved 
mysteries  that  constantly  surround  us.  It  will  be  said 
that  my  mind  was  in  an  excited  and  abnormal  con- 
dition owing  to  my  adventures  in  the  Customs  House, 
and  that  I  probably  imagined  the  scene  instead  of 
really  seeing  the  creatures  I  have  described. 

I  agree  that  probably  my  mental  faculties,  for  the 
time  being,  were  possibly  abnormal,  but  I  hold  that 
when  the  consciousness  is  in  an  abnormal  condition 


AN  AUSTRIAN  ADVENTURE        207 

it  is  naturally  much  easier  to  see  the  abnormal.  At 
ordinary  times  the  veil  of  the  flesh  seems  denser,  and 
the  consciousness  much  less  acute. 

The  question  seems  to  me  to  hang  more  on  the  query 
—  do  such  creatures  actually  exist,  than  on  the  argu- 
ment did  I,  or  did  I  not  see  them?  There  are  crea- 
tures living  in  the  physical  world  quite  as  horrible  to 
look  upon  as  the  astral  entities  I  saw.  The  octopus 
and  some  apes,  for  instance.  Innumerable  people  of 
unimpeachable  veracity  have  testified  to  seeing  gro- 
tesque and  hideous  creatures,  which  can  only  be  placed 
in  the  category  of  astral  denizens,  and  in  that  category 
I  place  the  phemomena  I  certainly  witnessed  on  two 
successive  nights. 

The  following  story  has  been  given  to  me  by  a  bar- 
rister who  kindly  allows  me  to  give  his  name: 

E.  F.  WILLIAMS,  B.A. 

Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

"  It  is  clear  that  Needle  Jim  was  murdered  by  the 
proprietor,  Corbett  of  the  Tally  Ho,  and  that  his 
wraith  haunted  the  spot.  Horses  appear  to  be  as 
sensitive  as  dogs  are  to  apparitions,  and  there  are 
several  instances  on  record  where  horses  have  been 
the  means  of  .bringing  murder  to  light. 

"  It  is  a  difficult  matter,  indeed,  to  be  asked  to  write 
a  ghost  story  if  you  do  not  believe  in  ghosts ;  however, 
I  will  endeavor  to  relate  the  nearest  approach  to  one 
which  has  come  within  my  knowledge. 

"  The  winter  of  the  year  1849  was  an  exceptionally 
severe  one,  very  heavy  falls  of  snow  and  deep  drifts 
in  many  places,  especially  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Worcester,  near  which  the  scene  of  my  story  lies. 


208  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

"  It  was,  in  those  days,  the  custom  of  packmen  as 
they  were  called,  to  travel  around  the  country  with 
various  assortments  of  goods  —  calling  at  the  various 
farmhouses  and  cottages  offering  their  wares  for  sale; 
some  would  have  cutlery,  some  laces  and  ribbons,  but 
the  packman  with  whom  we  are  concerned  carried 
pins,  needles,  and  such  like,  hailing  from  Redditch, 
where  they  are  manufactured.  He  used  to  go  his 
round  four  times  a  year,  and  was  known  by  the  name 
of  Needle  Jim. 

"  About  the  beginning  of  January,  in  spite  of  the 
snow,  Jim  left  Worcester  for  Upper  Onslow,  Clayton 
and  Broadway,  with  a  view  of  going  to  Cleobury 
Mortimer,  Wyn  Forest,  and  back  to  Redditch.  Ap- 
parently he  was  seen  at  Onslow  and  Clayton,  but  after 
that,  there  was  no  further  trace  of  him. 

"  Now  at  the  village  of  Broadway,  there  is  a  little 
cider  house  called  the  Tally  Ho,  and  a  few  cottages. 
The  road  is  narrow,  with  three  very  sharp  corners, 
protected  only  from  a  very  steep  dingle  by  an  ill-kept, 
low,  out-of-repair  hedge  —  very  dangerous  on  a  dark 
night.  The  old  proprietor  of  the  inn,  named  Corbett, 
lived  there  with  his  old  wife,  and  was  in  the  poorest 
of  circumstances,  the  customers  at  the  inn  not  being 
very  numerous.  Nothing  more  was  heard  of  Needle 
Jim. 

"  Now  opposite  the  Tally  Ho,  on  the  far  bank  of  the 
dingle,  was  a  piece  of  ground  facing  the  south,  and 
old  Corbett  thought  it  would  make  an  excellent  cherry 
orchard.  So  the  hitherto  impecunious  Corbett  bought 
a  portion,  and  when  he  had  bought,  it  he  fenced  it 
round,  and  from  the  opposite  side  it  looked  exactly 
the  shape  of  a  coffin,  and  the  coffin  piece  it  is  called  to 
this  day. 


AN  AUSTRIAN  ADVENTURE        209 

"  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  it  was  permis- 
sible after  a  man  had  been  hung,  for  his  relatives  to 
take  the  body  away  home  for  burial.  One  day,  two 
men  arrived  at  the  Tally  Ho,  with  such  a  body  fastened 
across  the  back  of  a  horse ;  tying  up  the  horse  they  went 
into  the  inn  for  some  refreshment,  shortly  to  be  called 
out  by  a  woman  who  said  the  horse,  burden  and  all, 
had  jumped  over  the  hedge  into  the  dingle  and  was 
lying  at  the  bottom.  They  hurried  down  and  there 
found  the  horse  with  his  neck  broken  and  his  ghastly 
burden  under  him.  It  was  a  curious  fact  that  after 
the  disappearance  of  Needle  Jim,  horses  approach- 
ing this  corner  broke  into  heavy  sweats  and  showed 
great  signs  of  fear,  and  a  number  of  people  pre- 
ferred to  travel  by  the  longer  route,  via  the  Hundred 
Horse. 

"  Some  years  ago  some  alterations  were  being  made 
to  the  front  of  an  old  hotel  in  a  little  country  town 
about  five  miles  from  the  scenes  depicted  above,  and 
on  raising  the  large  flagstone  of  the  bottom  step,  there 
was  discovered  the  skeleton  of  a  man  with  his  skull 
smashed.  The  old  folks  declared  it  must  be  the  body 
of  the  missing  packman ;  anyhow,  after  the  discovery, 
the  spirit  or  ghost  seems  to  have  departed  from  the 
precincts  of  the  Tally  Ho. 

"  Now  I  am  not  a  believer  in  ghosts  or  their  allies, 
but  when  I  was  a  small  boy  I  went  on  my  pony  accom- 
panied by  two  servants,  who  were  taking  a  parcel  to 
a  house  next  door  to  the  Tally  Ho,  and  whilst  they 
were  inside  the  house,  all  at  once  the  pony  snorted  and 
started  full  gallop  for  home  as  hard  as  he  could  go; 
we  parted  company  going  down  a  steep  hill,  and  I  have 
often  thought  it  was  a  good  thing  for  me  we  did,  for  if 
he  had  bolted  into  his  stable  (which  he  did  do)  I 


210  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

should  probably  have  had  my  head  smashed,  as  the 
doorway  was  very  low. 

"  Still,  I  do  not  believe  in  ghosts,  I  think  it  is  more 
convenient  not  to !  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ACROSS   THE   THRESHOLD 

ONCE  upon  a  time  I  had  an  interesting  experi- 
ence showing  how  often  one  may  be  in  the 
presence  of  the  disembodied  without  being  in 
the  least  aware  of  the  fact. 

It  was  a  bright,  cold  day  in  October,  with  a  biting 
wind  and  brilliant  sunshine.  About  midday  I  was 
walking  up  a  long  avenue  leading  to  a  great  house. 
On  either  side  of  me,  for  a  mile  or  so,  lay  flat,  open 
grass  country,  pasturages  full  of  grazing  cattle.  The 
trees  bordering  the  avenue  stood  at  about  thirty  feet 
apart ;  they  were  gigantic  beeches  of  considerable  age. 
Their  silvery  trunks  of  wide  girth  were  smooth  and 
straight,  and  in  no  way  impeded  the  view  on  all  sides. 
The  avenue  was  wide  and  straight  and  bordered  by 
grass  out  of  which  the  trees  sprang. 

As  I  turned  in  at  the  lodge  gate  I  noticed,  without 
any  particular  interest,  a  woman  walking  in  front  of 
me,  but  in  a  very  few  moments  I  began  to  pay  more 
attention  to  her  obvious  peculiarities.  She  was  about 
twenty-five  to  thirty  feet  ahead  of  me.  moving  in  the 
same  direction,  and  the  view  I  had  of  her  back  began 
to  puzzle  me.  On  that  decidedly  chilly  morning  she 
wore  a  white  muslin  dress,  a  material  never  used  out 
of  doors  even  in  summer  in  that  northern  clime.  Over 
her  shoulders  floated  something  mauve  and  flimsy,  and 
on  her  head  was  what  looked  like  an  old-fashioned 

poke-bonnet. 

211 


212  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Her  back  looked  young,  and  yet  she  was  a  creature 
of  a  bygone  century,  and  knowing  every  one  within 
a  twenty-mile  radius  of  where  I  walked  I  speculated 
as  to  who  she  could  possibly  be. 

Perhaps  what  puzzled  me  most  was  how  she  had 
managed  to  avoid  the  attention  of  the  village  children, 
who  would  at  once  have  been  alive  to  the  novelty  of 
her  whole  appearance.  I  looked  forward  to  hearing 
all  about  her  at  the  big  house,  and  as  seemed  highly 
probable,  meeting  her  face  to  face  and  obtaining  an 
introduction  to  her. 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  to  overtake  her 
and  pass  her;  we  were  both  walking  very  slowly.  I 
at  once  quickened  my  steps,  but  somehow  I  never 
seemed  to  gain  on  her.  Even  this  did  not  rouse  in 
me  the  faintest  suspicion  of  being  in  the  presence  of 
a  disembodied  soul,  it  merely  sharpened  my  curiosity 
and  urged  me  to  greater  efforts. 

I  moved  from  the  road  to  the  grass  which  I  calcu- 
lated would  deaden  the  sound  of  my  footsteps,  then 
I  began  to  run. 

Still  no  success!  The  lady  never  turned  her  head 
to  right  or  left,  but  was  clearly  aware  of  my  pursuit, 
for  apparently  without  the  least  effort  she  kept  her 
distance  from  me. 

At  the  moment  when  I  was  feeling  rather  baffled 
and  very  much  puzzled  I  caught  sight  of  my  friend, 
N.,  in  the  distance  coming  to  meet  me.  "  Ah !  "  I 
thought,  as  I  at  once  slowed  down  to  draw  breath, 
"  she  will  have  to  pass  her  and  she'll  tell  me  what  her 
face  is  like." 

I  kept  eyes  and  attention  closely  fixed  on  the  two 
figures  as  they  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  one  another. 
Now  the  stranger  appeared  to  be  exactly  at  an  equal 


ACROSS  THE  THRESHOLD         213 

distance  between  us,  when,  lo!  she  simply  vanished 
as  utterly  and  entirely  as  the  electric  light  one  switches 
off  in  a  room.  One  second  there  she  was,  perfectly 
and  clearly  visible,  the  next  second,  there  she  was  not. 
I  looked  foolishly  around,  though  I  knew  that  neither 
to  right  or  left  was  there  any  hiding-place,  moreover 
my  eyes  had  been  fully  upon  her  when  she  vanished, 
flicked  out- 
How  well  I  remember  N.  running  up  to  me  and 
without  any  greeting,  we  both  simultaneously  burst 
out  — 

"Did  you  see  her?" 

N.  told  me  that  the  inside  of  the  poke-bonnet  was 
empty.  The  lady  had  no  face. 

Of  course  we  gazed  around  and  searched  behind 
the  boles  of  the  trees,  but  we  were  both  aware  how 
foolish  any  such  proceeding  was,  for  we  had  both  been 
staring  hard  at  her  when  she  disappeared. 

There  was  a  bygone  tragedy  connected  with  that 
part  of  the  avenue,  but  on  discussing  the  matter  with 
the  owner  of  the  great  house  we  all  had  to  come  reluc- 
tantly to  the  conclusion  that  the  woman  we  had  seen 
had  no  connection  with  that  story.  A  former  Lady 
Dalrymple  had  been  murdered  by  one  of  her  servants 
in  the  avenue  about  a  hundred  years  previously,  but 
the  portraits  of  the  deceased  and  the  lady  we  had  seen 
bore  not  the  smallest  resemblance.  It  was  said  that 
"  Lady  Dalrymple  walked  "  -  a  tall,  massive  figure 
clad  in  a  dark,  heavy  cloak  sprinkled  with  snow.  She 
had  been  done  to  death  one  January  night  in  a  snow- 
storm which  had  hidden  her  remains  for  several  days. 
The  apparition  we  had  seen  was  that  of  a  very 
slender  girl  or  young  woman.  The  interesting  fact 
that  I  wish  to  emphasize  is  that  had  this  young  drama 


214  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

in  muslin  turned  aside,  slipped  through  the  light  fence, 
and  struck  off  across  the  fields  it  would  never  have 
occurred  to  either  N.  or  me  that  she  was  not  physical. 
We  would  have  speculated  as  to  who  she  was,  but  out 
of  common  civility  we  would  not  have  followed  her. 
We  would  have  made  casual  inquiries  as  to  who  she 
was,  simply  out  of  curiosity  aroused  by  her  peculiar 
attire,  and  then  the  trifling  incident  would  have  been 
forgotten. 

That  sudden  vanishing  has  rooted  the  experience 
firmly  in  my  mind,  and  I  have  long  since  become 
convinced  that  the  little  story  I  have  just  told  is  an 
extremely  common  one.  I  believe  such  disembodied 
spirits  are  constantly  with  us,  and  that  many  of  us 
see  them,  pass  them  in  the  streets,  stand  beside  them 
in  crowds,  and  accept  them  perfectly  naturally  as 
physical  entities  in  no  way  different  from  what  we  are 
ourselves. 

Many  people  believe  that  our  faculties  have  a  limit 
beyond  which  we  cannot  go,  but  this  is  certainly  not 
so,  as  it  is  now  proved  that  some  people  have  the 
X-ray  sight  by  nature  and  can  see  far  more  than  others. 
This  faculty  has  nothing  to  do  with  keenness  of  sight, 
it  is  a  question  of  sight  which  is  able  to  respond  to 
different  series  of  vibrations.  Undoubtedly  there  are 
many  entities  about  us  who  do  not  reflect  rays  of  light 
that  we  can  see,  yet  who  may  reflect  those  other  rays 
of  rates  of  vibration  which  can  be  photographed. 

It  is  extremely  difficult  for  the  average  person  to 
grasp  the  reality  of  that  which  we  cannot  see  with  our 
physical  eyes,  and  to  realize  how  very  partial  our  sight 
is,  yet  science  continually  demonstrates  to  us  worlds  of 
teeming  life  of  whose  very  existence  we  should  be 
ignorant  so  far  as  our  senses  are  concerned. 


ACROSS  THE  THRESHOLD         215 

What  ought  clearly  to  be  grasped  is  the  fact  that 
we  are  not  separated  from  the  so-called  dead,  save  by 
the  limitation  of  our  consciences.  We  have  not  lost 
those  gone  before,  we  have  only  lost  the  power  to  see 
them,  and  very  occasionally  that  power  is  restored  to 
us,  by  what  means  we  know  not.  All  visible  things  are 
the  result  of  invisible  causes,  and  doubtless  those  deni- 
zens of  the  subtler  worlds  come  amongst  us  with  a 
distinct  purpose  in  view.  Sometimes  that  purpose  can 
be  traced  to  remorse,  revenge,  a  quest,  a  strong  attrac- 
tion to  the  scene  of  a  crime,  but  in  many  other  cases 
no  object  can  be  discerned. 

The  condition  of  the  observer  is  constantly  found 
tc  be  absolutely  normal.  The  mental  conditions  of 
both  myself  an  N.  were,  as  far  as  we  could  tell,  quite 
normal.  Our  mental  activity  was  no  greater,  no  more 
vivid  or  more  accurate  than  usual,  yet  we  both  saw 
an  object  that  was  beyond  normal  sense  and  rational 
vision. 

The  fact  that  so  often  there  is  no  connecting  link 
between  the  apparition  and  his  or  her  surroundings 
induces  me  to  believe  that  we  are  everywhere  sur- 
rounded by  the  denizens  of  the  other  world,  and  on 
rare  occasions  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  them. 

Here  is  another  utterly  trivial  story  which  empha- 
sizes the  above  suggestion. 

I  was  lunching  with  my  husband  in  a  house  built 
within  the  last  fifty  years.  The  only  former  occupants 
were  known  to  us.  We  were  discussing  a  letter  I  had 
that  morning  received  and  I  said :  "  I'll  go  and  fetch 
it  for  you  to  read."  I  rose  and  left  the  dining-room, 
and  pushed  open  the  half-closed  door  of  the  adjoining 
drawing-room. 

What  was  my  astonishment  to  behold  standing  in 


216  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

the  middle  of  the  floor  a  tall,  dark  man,  a  total  stranger. 
He  stood  exactly  between  the  door  and  a  large  bow 
window,  through  which  poured  a  flood  of  sunshine, 
and  I  paused  involuntarily  and  stared  at  him.  Not 
that  there  was  anything  the  least  peculiar  about  him, 
and,  indeed,  his  air  of  great  respectability  instantly 
banished  the  flashing  thought  of  "  Burglar." 

The  stranger  returned  my  stare  with  perfect  com- 
posure, and  in  a  second  or  two  during  which  we  re- 
garded each  other  I  had  time  to  observe  his  appear- 
ance. He  was  well  dressed,  all  in  black,  with  a  mod- 
ern, black  broadcloth  frockcoat  buttoned  close.  He 
was  very  tall  and  strongly  built,  his  face  was  sallow 
and  heavy  featured,  and  he  wore  a  short,  black  beard. 
I  bowed  and  addressed  him: 

"  I'm  sorry !  I  didn't  know  any  one  was  waiting. 
Do  you  wish  to  see  me  or  my  husband  ?  "  I  said  po- 
litely. 

The  man  made  no  reply,  but  at  once  began  to  glide, 
not  walk,  towards  a  closed  glass  door  leading  to  a 
conservatory  on  the  left.  His  eyes  never  left  mine. 
Without  opening  the  door  he  passed  through  it  and 
vanished. 

Then  I  realized  and  darted  after  him,  throwing 
open  the  door  and  staring  beyond.  Nothing!  Noth- 
ing physical  could  have  passed  through  a  glass  door 
without  shattering  it,  and  that  is  all  there  is  to  this 
story.  The  man  had  no  connection  with  us  nor,  so 
far  as  we  could  learn,  with  the  former  occupants  of 
the  house. 

A  very  old  friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  Sinclair,  wife  of 
the  late  Sir  Tollemache  Sinclair's  second  son,  told  me 
of  an  experience  she  and  her  mother  once  had  when 
visiting  a  cousin,  Major  Fetherston  Dilke,  of  Max- 


ACROSS  THE  THRESHOLD         217 

stoke  Castle,  Warwickshire.  The  Castle  is  ancient  and 
surrounded  by  a  moat,  and  within  the  moat  lies  a  ten- 
nis court.  In  order  to  reach  their  rooms  on  the 
ground  floor,  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  her  mother  had  to 
pass  through  a  great  stone  hall  filled  with  fine  old 
oak  and  armor.  Beyond  that  their  way  lay  through 
the  remains  of  an  old  chapel,  which  once  had  been  ex- 
tensively damaged  by  fire. 

One  evening  after  playing  tennis  till  rather  late, 
Mrs.  Sinclair  and  her  mother  hastened  indoors  to 
change  for  dinner.  As  they  passed  through  the  chapel 
Mrs.  Sinclair  saw  her  mother  suddenly  shrink  back 
against  the  wall;  at  the  same  time  she  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  May,  stand  aside  and  let  that  person  pass." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  looked  round,  but  could  see  no  one. 
Again  her  mother  cried  out  insistently: 

"  Oh,  do  let  her  pass." 

"  But  no  one  is  here,"  Mrs.  Sinclair  assured  her. 
Then  seeing  that  her  mother  looked  terrified  she  took 
her  by  the  arm  and  hurried  her  to  their  rooms. 

When  the  door  was  shut  Mrs.  Sinclair  tried  to 
soothe  her  mother's  agitation,  and  asked  her  what  she 
had  seen,  and  why  she  was  so  disturbed. 

Her  mother  replied :  "  There  was  a  young  woman 
in  the  corner  who  was  trying  hard  to  escape  observa- 
tion, and  the  sight  of  her  gave  me  the  most  uncomfort- 
able feeling.  She  was  not  a  maidservant,  and  wore 
no  cap.  She  was  dressed  in  a  mauve  print  gown  with 
a  violet  sprig  upon  it.  She  might  have  been  a  needle- 
woman." Mrs.  Sinclair  calmed  her  mother  as  well 
as  she  could,  and  they  went  down  to  dinner  together. 

During  the  meal  what  was  her  horror  to  hear  her 
mother  say  to  their  host,  "  Oh,  William,  I  feel  sure 
there  are  ghosts  in  the  Castle.  I've  seen  one  to-night." 


218  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

There  was  a  most  uncomfortable  silence  after  this, 
and  Major  Fetherston  Dilke  looked  terribly  agitated. 

After  dinner,  when  the  ladies  were  alone  in  the 
drawing-room,  Mrs.  Dilke  asked  Mrs.  Sinclair  what 
they  had  seen,  and  on  being  told  she  explained  that 
before  a  death  in  the  family  a  certain  housekeeper, 
who  had  been  murdered,  always  haunted  the  chapel, 
and  in  consequence  of  this  warning  always  coming 
true  her  husband  was  exceedingly  nervous  of  this  ap- 
parition. Nothing  more  was  said  upon  the  subject 
during  Mrs.  Sinclair's  stay,  but  before  the  end  of  the 
year  Major  Fetherston  Dilke  lay  dead. 

Such  warnings  are  very  common,  and  very  hard  to 
understand.  They  suggest  that  the  apparition  knows 
of  the  approaching  death  of  a  certain  person,  and  that 
it  has  the  power  to  make  itself  visible  to  certain  per- 
sons, at  certain  times.  Why  this  warning  should  be 
given  is  a  baffling  mystery.  Again,  why  did  not  Mrs. 
Sinclair  see  this  ghost  when  her  mother  so  plainly 
saw  it? 

The  fact  is  that  all  sorts  of  most  unlikely  persons 
see  apparitions,  even  the  rankest  unbeliever  and  the 
most  matter-of-fact  individual,  and  they  generally  see 
them  at  most  unexpected  moments. 

I  remember  one  day  walking  along  a  country  road, 
and  seeing  a  dog-cart  in  the  distance  coming  towards 
me.  As  it  drew  nearer  I  saw  that  it  contained  (the 
late)  Lord  Wemyss,  and  on  recognizing  me  he  drew 
up  and  jumped  down. 

"  I've  got  a  confession  to  make  to  you,"  he  said. 
"  I  wouldn't  tell  any  one  else  for  the  world.  I'd  have 
the  life  chaffed  out  of  me.  I've  actually  seen  a  ghost," 

"  I'm  not  in  the  least  surprised.  Why  shouldn't 
you  see  a  ghost  ?  "  I  retorted. 


ACROSS  THE  THRESHOLD         219 

"Well!  I  never  believed  in  them,  and  I  didn't 
think  I  was  the  sort  of  man  who'd  ever  see  one.  Now, 
if  it  had  been  Arthur  Balfour  there  would  have  been 
nothing  in  it.  He's  a  member  of  the  Psychical  So- 
ciety, and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  But  being  a  member  of  the  Psychical  Society 
does  not  predispose  one  to  see  ghosts,"  I  expostulated, 
but  Lord  Wemyss  remained  very  puzzled. 

He  told  me  that  when  about  half  a  mile  from  his 
own  front  door  at  Gosford,  East  Lothian,  he  saw  a 
man  walking  in  front  of  him  in  the  same  direction, 
going  towards  the  house.  In  a  vague  sort  of  way  he 
wondered  for  a  moment  where  this  man  had  suddenly 
sprung  from,  as  he  had  not  noticed  him  before,  but 
there  was  nothing  unusual  in  his  appearance  to  arouse 
curiosity.  He  was  a  stranger  and  looked  like  a  fore- 
man in  his  Sunday  clothes. 

Lord  Wemyss  walked  on,  always  keeping  about  ten 
yards  between  himself  and  the  stranger.  At  a  certain 
point  he  fully  expected  he  would  strike  off  by  a  path 
leading  to  the  servants'  and  tradesmen's  entrance,  but 
rather  to  his  surprise,  the  man  did  no  such  thing. 
He  pursued  an  undeviating  course  towards  the  main 
entrance,  and  on  observing  this  Lord  Wemyss  became 
more  interested,  and  looked  at  him  more  closely. 

Still  there  was  something  remarkable  to  be  observed, 
and  concluding  that  the  man,  being  a  stranger,  did  not 
know  of  any  other  entrance,  he  quickened  his  steps  m 
order  to  come  up  with  him.  In  this  he  failed  —  the 
man  kept  his  distance,  and  just  as  he  reached  the  door 
he  vanished  from  sight. 

I  tried  hard  to  persuade  Lord  Wemyss  to  tell  this 
story  to  Mr.  Balfour,  who  was  so  intimate  a  friend, 
but  I  believe  he  never  did  so.  The  interest  lies  in  the 


220  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

long  time,  during  a  half-mile  walk,  in  which  the  ghost 
was  under  observation,  also  in  the  fact  th?t  until  the 
man  disappeared  on  the  doorstep  Lord  Wemyss  had 
never  suspected  that  the  stranger  was  other  than  or- 
dinary flesh  and  blood. 

So  many  people  have  confided  their  ghost  stories 
to  me,  and  swore  me  to  secrecy,  that  I  am  convinced 
such  experiences  are  very  common,  and  only  remain 
hidden  either  from  fear  of  being  laughed  at  or  from 
being  thought  to  suffer  from  hallucinations. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HAUNTED   ROOMS 

HOW  is  it  that  one  can  "  feel "  a  room  is 
haunted?     What    is    it   that   gives   one   the 
strong   impression   that  there   is   something 
unpleasant  about  a  certain  room,   a  something  that 
sets  it  apart,  as  a  place  to  be  avoided? 

The  mind  operates  with  the  senses.  It  receives 
impressions  through  the  air  as  sound,  or  through  the 
ether  as  sight,  and  so  forth.  Through  the  various 
senses  we  catch  the  vibrations  of  consciousness  be- 
longing to  our  environment,  near  or  far.  Psychically 
developed  persons  possess  an  increase  of  sensibility 
which  enables  them  to  see,  hear,  and  feel  more  acutely 
than  most  people.  Wherever  some  great  mental  dis- 
turbance has  taken  place,  wherever  overwhelming  sor- 
row, hatred,  pain,  terror,  or  any  kind  of  violent  pas- 
sion has  been  felt,  an  impression  of  a  very  marked 
character  has  been  imprinted  on  the  astral  light.  So 
strong  is  this  impression  that  often  persons  possessing 
but  the  first  glimmer  of  the  psychic  faculty  are  deeply 
impressed  by  it.  But  a  slight  temporary  increase  of 
sensibility  would  enable  them  to  visualize  the  whole 
scene.  That  such  impressions  should  be  imprinted  on 
the  astral  light  is  no  more  wonderful  than  ordinary 
photography,  or  the  impression  of  the  human  voice 
upon  the  cylinders  of  a  gramophone. 

To  me,  a  haunted  room  is  always  full  of  shadows. 
That  is  how  I  see  it.  That  is  one  of  several  ways  by 

221 


222  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

which  I  distinguish  it  from  other  rooms.  Other  peo- 
ple do  not  always  see  these  shadows,  and  the  room  may 
actually  be  flooded  with  sunshine  when  I  enter  it  for 
the  first  time.  This  makes  no  difference  to  what  I  see. 
The  shadows  are  there,  despite  the  sunshine. 

There  are  long-drawn-out  shadows,  which  seem  to 
take  their  rise  in  the  corners  of  the  room,  and  creep 
across  the  floor.  They  are  not  motionless,  but  in 
constant  vibration  and  re-formation,  like  smoke  drifts. 
Such  shadows  are  not  of  a  uniform  gray,  but  tinged 
by  dull  colors,  dark  red,  sulphur  yellow,  muddy  brown. 
In  a  haunted  room  there  is  always  a  shadow  above 
one's  head.  A  hovering  cloud  between  the  ceiling  and 
midway  to  the  floor. 

Then  there  are  the  sensations  I  feel  when  entering 
a  haunted  room.  Little  shivers  run  through  me,  and 
what  I  take  to  be  nervous  excitation  sets  all  my  spine 
jangling,  and  the  tiny  nerve  threads  quivering.  The 
sensation  of  icy  cold  water  trickling  down  my  back  is 
most  unpleasant. 

At  times  a  profound  melancholy  falls  upon  me, 
often  blended  with  a  poignant  compassion  for  some 
one,  I  know  not  whom.  At  other  times  a  sensation 
of  violent  repulsion  invades  my  being,  which  has  ac- 
tually, in  some  cases,  produced  physical  sickness. 
Again,  there  is  the  helpless  feeling,  and  that  is  the 
hardest  to  bear  of  all  such  psychic  disturbances.  The 
feeling  that  something  is  about  to  occur  in  that  room 
which  I  will  be  powerless  to  ward  off. 

What  can  one  do  when  paying  a  visit  if  one  is 
ushered  into  a  bedroom  by  one's  hostess  which  one 
instantly  knows  to  be  "  unhealthf ul  "  ?  I  cannot  find 
a  better  word  to  describe  many  a  haunted  room.  This 
experience  has  several  times  happened  to  me,  and 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  223 

unless  I  know  my  hostess  very  well,  I  am  obliged  to 
sleep  in  this  unhealthful  atmosphere. 

On  one  occasion  I  was  invited  to  dine  and  sleep 
with  some  old  friends,  who  had  taken  on  lease  an  old 
castle  in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Andrews,  where  I 
happened  to  be  staying.  They  had  only  been  in  resi- 
dence for  a  month  or  two,  an  old  brother  and  an  old 
sister,  whom  I  had  known  all  my  life. 

In  spite  of  this  long  friendship  they  were  not  the 
sort  of  people  to  whom  I  could  have  said,  "  Would 
you  mind  giving  me  another  room?  The  one  you 
have  selected  for  me  is  haunted,  and  if  I  remain  in  it 
I  will  have  no  sleep.  I  shall  not  even  dare  to  try  to 
sleep,  but  shall  have  to  keep  awake  all  night  to  ward 
off  the  evil."  They  would  have  been  both  shocked 
and  indignant  at  such  a  suggestion,  and  probably  have 
concluded  that  I  had  gone  stark  staring  mad. 

I  had  accepted  a  seat  in  a  carriage  belonging  to 
some  friends  in  St.  Andrews,  who  were  also  going  to 
the  castle  to  dine,  but  who  were  returning  to  sleep  in 
their  own  homes  in  the  town. 

It  was  twilight  when  we  drove  up  the  long  avenue, 
and  caught  a  first  glimpse  of  the  exterior.  A  typical 
old  Scotch  castle,  very  large,  with  high-peaked  roofs 
and  pepper-box  turrets,  and  all  built  of  gray  stone. 

About  an  hour  before  dinner  I  was  conducted  to  my 
room.  My  evening  dress  was  already  spread  upon  the 
bed,  and  the  housemaid  was  arranging  my  toilet  ar- 
ticles on  the  dressing-table. 

"  I  think  you  will  be  comfortable  here,  my  dear," 
said  my  kind  hostess,  and  I  thanked  her  with  a  sinking 
heart  as  she  went  away. 

As  the  housemaid  prepared  to  follow  her  I  said, 
"  Am  I  the  only  person  sleeping  on  this  floor?  " 


224  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

She  answered,  "  You  are  the  only  one  in  this  wing, 
miss." 

"  It  is  a  very  large  house,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Twenty-six  bedrooms,"  answered  the  housemaid, 
"  but  we've  shut  up  most  of  them.  This  one  has  such 
a  good  view  that  Miss  Young  thought  it  ought  to  be 
used."  With  that  she  went  away,  and  I  looked  round. 

Six  lighted  candles  and  a  big  wood  fire  seemed  only 
to  accentuate  the  profound  gloom  and  depression  of 
the  large,  irregular  room.  The  very  first  thing  I  did 
was  to  throw  a  towel  over  the  face  of  the  mirror  on  the 
dressing-table.  Then  I  investigated  every  nook  and 
corner. 

There  was  a  powdering  closet  formed  in  a  pepper- 
box turret.  The  carpet  of  the  room  stopped  short  at 
its  door,  and  inside  the  boards  looked  loose  and  un- 
even. I  fetched  a  candle  and  soon  discovered  that 
the  floorboards  lifted  up  quite  easily,  and  beneath 
them  was  a  black  yawning  hole,  an  oubliette,  through 
which  wretched  prisoners  were  cast  in  days  not  so  long 
ago. 

I  replaced  the  boards,  telling  myself  that  in  the 
morning  I  would  have  a  look  at  the  outside  of  this 
black  shaft.  It  probably  ended,  as  most  of  such  places 
did  end  in  the  old  Scotch  castles,  in  a  big  dungeon 
underground. 

Inside  my  big  room  there  were  sloping  ceilings,  and 
great  beams,  and  an  enormous  fireplace  had  been 
bricked  up  to  suit  more  modern  requirements.  There 
were  two  doors,  the  one  I  had  entered  by  and  another 
which  was  locked  and  keyless.  The  window,  with  the 
view,  was  hidden  by  heavy  red  curtains,  and  the  at- 
mosphere was  musty  and  dank,  like  that  of  a  vault. 
As  I  stared  around  me  I  could  not  help  thinking 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  225 

what  an  unfortunate  thing  it  is  to  be  born  without  any 
imagination.  Any  one  possessed  of  a  spark  of  that 
quality  would  have  hesitated  before  putting  a  young 
guest  into  so  gloomy  a  chamber,  the  only  room  occu- 
pied in  that  wing. 

"  No  sleep  possible  here,"  I  told  myself  grimly,  as 
I  began  to  dress.  Then  I  set  myself  to  "  feel  after  " 
what  was  really  wrong  with  the  room.  Supposing  I 
did  fall  asleep,  what  would  happen  ?  Would  some  one 
come  and  try  to  strangle  me  in  the  night?  That  had 
actually  happened  to  many  people.  Would  I  suddenly 
awake  to  the  fact  that  some  one  unseen  was  pulling  off 
the  bedclothes?  That  was  also  a  trick  common  to 
ghostly  visitants. 

Gradually  I  gathered  impressions,  very  unpleasant 
ones.  I  became  positively  certain  that  I  was  being 
watched  intently.  Some  one,  present  in  the  room, 
though  unseen  by  me,  was  watching  my  every  move- 
ment. That  some  one  violently  resented  my  occupa- 
tion of  the  room,  was  intensely  hostile,  and  meant  to 
make  things  nasty  for  me  later  on  that  night.  Wher- 
ever I  moved  I  felt  that  malignant  eyes  followed  me, 
and  I  kept  glancing  over  my  shoulder  at  every  crack 
of  the  furniture,  and  the  scratching  of  a  mouse  in  the 
wainscot.  It  was  in  the  stretches  of  dead  silence  that 
the  presence  became  most  imminent,  most  menacing, 
and  I  had  a  strong  instinct  to  set  my  back  against  the 
wall  and  face  right  out  into  the  room. 

Again  I  was  confronted  by  the  mirror  problem.  I 
had  become  certain  that  it  must  remain  covered.  If 
I  looked  into  its  surface  I  knew  I  would  see  something 
horrible.  Something  kept  whispering  to  me,  "  Never 
mind  how  you  look,  never  mind  if  your  bodice  is  all 
awry,  or  your  skirt  all  askew,  or  your  hair  all  bulging 


226  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

out  on  one  side.  Don't  uncover  the  mirror  if  you 
value  your  sanity.  What  there  is  to  be  seen  can  only 
become  visible  in  the  mirror.  Don't  worry  after  ex- 
planations, or  why  this  should  or  how  it  could  be.  Do 
as  I  tell  you.  Keep  the  mirror  covered  and  when  you 
come  up  to  bed  keep  your  back  to  the  wall." 

Dressing  was  a  very  rapid  process  that  night,  and 
when  completed,  so  far  as  circumstances  would  allow, 
I  found  I  still  had  twenty  minutes  to  wait  until  the 
dinner  gong  would  ring.  I  sat  down  with  my  back 
against  the  wall,  and  surveyed  the  depressing  apart- 
ment with  a  gloomy  anticipation.  Where  was  that 
stealthy  watcher,  whose  baleful  eyes  I  felt  were 
fixed  upon  me?  I  could  see  nothing.  I  could  only 
feel  acutely  that  I  was  not  alone,  and  that  I  was  "  in 
for  "  an  awful  night. 

Oh!  to  get  away,  and  leave  that  malignant  unseen 
watcher  in  undisputed  possession  of  his  dismal  abode ! 
I  was  quite  certain  of  the  gender!  Then  a  chance  of 
deliverance  flashed  over  me.  I  could  return  after 
dinner  to  St.  Andrews  with  the  friends  who  had 
brought  me.  But  I  had  accepted  the  invitation  to  stay 
the  night.  What  possible  excuse  could  I  make  for 
cutting  short  my  visit?  In  this  case  the  truth  was  no 
use;  in  fact,  worse  than  useless.  Not  only  would  my 
host  and  hostess  utterly  fail  to  understand  what  I  was 
talking  about,  but  they  would  be  exceedingly  indignant, 
and  look  upon  me  as  absolutely  insane. 

As  falsehood  had  to  be  resorted  to,  I  surely  could 
invent  some  plausible  excuse  that  would  hurt  no  one's 
feelings,  but  the  only  excuse  I  could  think  of  was  ill- 
ness. I  must  tell  my  hostess  that  I  feared  I  was  "  in 
for "  an  illness  of  some  sort,  and  the  wisest  thing 
to  do  was  to  drive  back  to  St.  Andrews  and  be  laid  up 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  227 

in  my  own  bed.  The  most  hospitable  person  would 
rather  not  have  a  sick  guest  under  her  roof.  The 
excuse  I  proposed  to  make  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  one 
most  likely  to  be  accepted  without  much  fuss. 

I  did  not  determine  upon  this  plan  without  a  certain 
amount  of  wavering.  "  After  all,"  I  told  myself,  "  it 
is  only  for  one  night,  and  what  can  this  entity  do  but 
give  you  a  very  creepy  and  disturbed  night.  You 
will  have  to  sit  up  against  the  wall,  and  defend  your- 
self by  the  power  of  the  Cross,  bidding  it  begone,  in 
the  Name  of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost. 
This  you  may  have  to  do  many  times,  but  the  night 
won't  last  forever,  and  you  had  best  try  to  make  the 
best  of  things,  and  not  risk  offending  old  friends." 

It  did  seem  hard  that  I  dared  not  tell  the  truth. 
Had  the  entity  been  in  the  flesh  how  easy  it  would 
have  been.  Who  has  not,  at  some  time  or  another  in 
her  life,  found -herself  unwittingly  to  be  an  unwelcome 
guest,  and  made  to  feel  "  if  you  don't  go  away  at  once 
you  will  regret  it  "  ?  Sometimes  one  comes  across  per- 
sons who  for  some  private  reason  dread  being  over- 
looked, or  who  love  their  hermitage  so  dearly  that  they 
refuse  to  be  amiable,  to  even  the  most  swiftly  passing 
guest.  Old  people  are  often  like  that,  every  one 
knows,  or  has  known,  of  such  people  in  the  flesh.  Yet 
how  few  believe  that  such  unpleasant  traits  persist  just 
as  strongly  after  so-called  death,  as  before.  What 
should  suddenly  change  a  man's  whole  disposition  the 
moment  he  "  shuffles  off  this  mortal  coil  "  ? 

I  felt  I  was  now  in  the  presence  of  one  who  dreaded 
being  overlooked,  and  who  sought  to  get  rid  of  me  by 
every  device  in  his  power. 

Whilst  thinking  thus  my  mind  was  irrevocably 
made  up  for  me. 


228  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

My  attention  was  suddenly  drawn  towards  a  soft 
stealthy  noise.  Padded  footsteps.  Something  had 
come  near,  and  was  creeping  warily  round  in  front  of 
me.  I  felt  the  eyes  upon  me.  I  was  being  regarded 
more  closely.  What  was  about  to  follow? 

I  leapt  to  my  feet,  and  raising  my  arm  made  the 
sign  of  the  Cross.  "  I  bid  you  begone,  in  the  Name 
of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  of  utter  silence.  The 
atmosphere  struck  suddenly  chill  as  ice.  A  curious 
sensation  of  emptiness  crept  over  the  room.  I  was 
alone,  but  for  how  long  would  I  remain  alone  ? 

I  hurried  downstairs  and  tried  to  play  my  part, 
and  during  the  course  of  the  evening  I  told  my  false- 
hoods as  naturally  as  I  could.  At  half^past  ten  I  drove 
off  to  St.  Andrews  with  a  light  heart,  and  an  utter 
indifference  to  the  consequences. 

I  believe  that  my  falsehoods  did  not,  however, 
"  go  down,"  for  I  never  was  asked  again  to  that  house. 

Perhaps  it  was  as  well,  for  I  certainly  never  would 
have  set  foot  in  it  again,  and  I  had  sacrificed  the  truth 
quite  sufficiently  upon  this  one  occasion. 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  out  what  sort  of  reputa- 
tion the  castle  bore.  Every  one  agreed  that  it  was 
haunted.  I  asked  one  elderly  woman  who  had  lived 
all  her  life  in  St.  Andrews,  and  who  knew  the  whole 
country  intimately,  what  she  thought  of  S.  Castle. 

"  Horrible,  haunted  old  place.  I  can't  think  how 
the  Youngs  could  have  taken  it,"  she  replied. 

"  But  what  sort  of  ghosts  haunt  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  Old  Sir  James  and  his  son.  They  were  in  league 
with  the  Devil,  and  the  son,  another  James,  used  to 
murder  people  and  throw  them  down  into  the  dungeon. 
He  was  beheaded  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  First" 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  229 

"  Have  you  known  any  one  who  has  ever  seen  any- 
thing? "  I  persisted. 

"  No,  but  my  father  remembered  as  a  young  man 
seeing  a  pile  of  human  bones  being  removed  from  the 
dungeon,  and  buried  in  the  churchyard.  The  late 
people  lived  to  be  very  old,  and  always  kept  Sir  James' 
wing  shut  up.  Now  the  place  has  changed  hands, 
and  probably  the  Youngs  will  never  be  disturbed. 
They  are  installed  in  the  most  modern  part  of  the 
house,  and  won't  need  to  use  the  haunted  wing." 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  all  haunted  houses  or 
rooms  are  unpleasant  to  live  in.  People  in  the  flesh 
are  either  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  disturbing  or  tranquil 
to  live  with,  and  so  it  is  with  their  astral  counterparts. 
When  they  elect  to  haunt  the  scenes  of  their  old 
activities  some  ghosts  are  so  inoffensive  that  they  can 
be  lived  with  under  the  most  tranquil  conditions. 

One  autumn  we  took  a  shooting  lodge  in  the  far 
North  of  Scotland,  and  though  I  recognized  at  once 
that  it  was  frequented  by  an  entity  from  the  "  other 
side,"  I  experienced  no  uneasy  feelings  whatever. 

We  had  not  been  in  residence  longer  than  three 
hours  before  this  ghost  put  in  an  appearance. 

We  were  in  a  lively  confusion  of  unpacking  and 
settling  down.  Several  large  trunks  had  been  carried 
upstairs,  and  set  down  on  a  wide  corridor  on  to  which 
the  bedrooms  opened. 

I  was  on  my  knees  unpacking  one  of  those  trunks, 
our  dog  "  Pompey  "  was  seated  beside  me  superintend- 
ing matters,  and  my  maid  was  standing  at  my  side 
waiting  to  carry  various  articles  into  the  different 
rooms.  The  hour  was  midday,  and  the  early  autumn 
sunshine  flooded  the  house. 

Suddenly  "  Pompey  "  growled,  and  turned  towards 


230  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

the  staircase,  with  all  his  hair  bristling.  I  also  looked 
round  and  saw  a  tall,  quite  ordinary  man  mounting  the 
staircase. 

I  thought  nothing  of  this,  supposing  him  to  be  the 
factor  whom  we  expected,  and  I  rose  to  my  feet  at 
once.  He  came  on  along  the  corridor  straight  to- 
wards us,  and  looking  directly  at  us,  but  when  within 
about  ten  feet  from  where  we  stood  he  suddenly 
vanished. 

I  heard  my  maid  give  a  sharp  exclamation,  and  at 
the  same  instant  "  Poinpey  "  made  a  furious  dash  at 
the  spot,  and  growling  angrily  began  to  pursue  some- 
thing invisible  to  us,  down  the  stairs. 

I  followed  as  quickly  as  I  could.  I  feared  "  Pom- 
pey  "  would  be  lost  if  he  ran  out  into  the  deer  forest 
surrounding  us  on  all  sides.  I  caught  him  at  the  deer 
fence,  edging  the  vegetable  garden,  and  induced  him 
with  some  difficulty  to  return  to  the  house. 

My  maid  and  I  compared  notes.  What  I  had  seen 
accorded  exactly  with  what  she  had  seen.  She  soon 
got  over  her  uncomfortable  experience,  and  though  I 
never  saw  this  entity  again,  I  often  felt  him  near  me. 
He  was,  however,  of  so  colorless  a  personality,  that 
he  never  proved  in  the  least  disturbing  to  any  one  in 
the  house. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write  the  Astral  Plane  was 
not  so  generally  recognized  as  an  actual  residential 
quarter  as  it  is  now.  In  these  days  a  halfway  house 
for  the  soul  was  not  considered  necessary  for  Protes- 
tants. They  either  went  direct  to  heaven  or  hell, 
according  to  their  manner  of  life  on  earth.  The 
Catholics  alone  had  their  Purgatory,  to  which  the  de- 
parted souls  repaired,  there  to  slough  off  the  passions 
of  earth  and  fit  themselves  for  higher  realms. 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  231 

Purgatory  and  the  Astral  Plane  mean  the  same 
thing  now  to  the  vast  majority  of  thinkers.  A  half- 
way house  for  the  soul.  A  condition  of  consciousness 
interpenetrating  this  earth,  which  may  actually  be 
visited  under  certain  conditions  by  those  still  possessing 
a  physical  body,  an  abode  so  contiguous  to  this  world 
as  to  make  the  words  of  the  Poet  literally  true  — 

"  All  houses  wherein  men  have  lived  and  died  are 
haunted  houses." 

In  these  days  I  used  to  get  severely  chaffed  on  the 
subject  of  the  Astral  Plane.  Frivolous  young  things 
would  say  to  me,  "  Hello !  been  on  the  Astral  Plane 
lately?"  ' 

One  day  I  was  undergoing  a  certain  amount  of  good- 
natured  chaff  from  a  number  of  young  people  at  Dun- 
robin  Castle.  I  defended  my  beliefs  vigorously,  and 
at  last  the  present  Lady  Londonderry,  then  Miss 
Chaplin,  the  Duke's  niece,  challenged  me  to  pick  out 
the  haunted  room  in  the  Castle. 

I  had  never  at  that  time  been  in  any  part  of  the 
building  save  in  one  bedroom,  and  the  public  rooms. 
I  at  once  took  up  the  challenge,  and  the  Duke  remarked 
that  I  had  my  work  cut  out  for  me,  as  several  of  the 
rooms  had  a  reputation  for  being  haunted. 

I  replied  that  I  would  undertake  to  pick  out  a  room 
where  life  was  still  actively  carried  on  by  those  who 
had  suffered  something  terrible  on  that  spot  in  the 
past,  and  who  were  now  denizens  of  the  Astral  Plane. 

A  small  crowd  of  us  then  started,  led  by  Miss 
Chaplin,  and  we  went  from  room  to  room.  She 
opened  the  door  and  remained  with  the  others  on  the 
threshold.  I  walked  into  each  room  alone  and 
gathered  impressions. 

In  several  of  the  rooms  I  felt  the  presence  of  astral 


232  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

entities,  but  nothing  of  a  strong  or  unpleasant  nature. 
At  last  we  came  to  a  room  occupied  by  a  maid,  sitting 
alone,  sewing,  and  I  felt  instantly  that  my  quest  was 
at  an  end. 

There  was  a  sharp  atmosphere  of  anguish  that  was 
quite  unmistakable;  some  ghastly  tragedy  had  taken 
place  within  those  four  walls,  but  I  said  nothing  before 
the  sewing  woman.  I  felt  drawn  towards  the  window, 
the  trouble  was  centered  there.  If  I  remember  rightly, 
the  room  was  high  up,  and  overlooking,  not  the  sea, 
but  a  paved  courtyard. 

I  walked  back  to  the  others  with  my  finger  on  my 
lip,  and  Miss  Chaplin  closed  the  door  behind  me. 

"  We  need  not  go  any  further ;  that  is  the  haunted 
room,"  I  said,  in  a  low  voice  that  could  not  reach  the 
woman  inside. 

"  You're  right.     You've  found  it,"  was  the  answer. 

I  heard  the  story  when  we  went  downstairs,  but 
I  can  only  recollect  that  it  had  to  do  with  a  Lady 
Sutherland,  who  had  been  brutally  flung  out  of  the 
window. 

I  will  now  relate  a  curious  incident  of  haunting  by 
elementals,  and  it  will  be  seen  that  such  hauntings 
may  quite  easily  appear  to  the  ordinary  observer  as 
an  abnormal  occurrence  to  which  no  clue  can  be  given. 

What  is  an  elemental?  It  is  only  when  the  mystic 
has  advanced  in  her  studies  that  she  discovers  how 
manifold  evolution  is,  and  how  small  a  part  humanity 
really  fills  in  the  economy  of  nature. 

When  the  microscope  is  used  myriads  of  germs  of 
life,  unsuspected  by  us,  are  revealed;  even  so  the 
invisible  planes  connected  with  this  earth  contain 
myriads  of  forms  of  life,  of  whose  existence  most  of 
us  are  unconscious.  When  we  read  of  a  "  good  or  bad 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  233 

elemental  "  it  must  always  be  either  an  artificial  entity, 
or  one  of  the  many  varieties  of  nature  spirits  that  is 
meant.  I  will  deal  now  with  a  case  of  the  artificial 
variety. 

Such  elementals  are  formed  out  of  the  elemental 
essence  lying  behind  the  mineral  kingdom.  It  is  the 
monadic  essence,  or  material  used  in  creation,  or  it 
may  be  called  the  outpouring  of  Divine  force  into 
matter.  This  elemental  essence  is  marvelously  sensi- 
tive to  human  thought,  however  fleeting.  It  responds 
instantly  to  the  vibrations  set  up  consciously  or  un- 
consciously by  human  will  or  desire.  The  influence 
of  thought  can  mold  a  living  force,  good  or  evil,  into 
an  existence,  evanescent  or  lasting.  Such  shapes 
possess  a  certain  appropriateness  to  the  character  of 
the  desire  which  calls  them  into  existence,  though  they 
generally  possess  distortions,  either  unpleasant  or 
terrifying. 

Persons  who  play  with,  or  use  for  some  malign 
purpose,  Black  Magic,  generally  have  a  swarm  of  such 
semi-intelligent  entities  surrounding  them,  and  pro- 
fessional Black  Magicians  can  call  artificial  elementals 
of  great  power  into  existence,  and  use  them  for  their 
fell  designs. 

As  a  rule,  however,  the  enormous  inchoate  mass  of 
entities,  known  as  elementals,  are  beings  of  human 
thought  creation,  created  in  no  malicious  spirit,  but 
more  often  the  result  of  curiosity,  and  tampering  with 
a  very  dangerous  power,  as  yet  little  understood.  The 
amateur  magician  on  passing  over  to  the  other  side  by 
no  means  loses  his  taste  for  the  grotesque  and  abnor- 
mal, and  often  continues  to  play  pranks  on  those  left 
behind,  by  means  of  the  dangerous  powers  he  has  ac- 
quired whilst  on  earth. 


234  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN" 

I  was  visiting  some  old  friends  in  the  South  of 
England.  Some  years  before  they  had  succeeded  to 
a  fine  inheritance,  and  it  was  the  first  time  that  I  had 
stayed  with  them  in  that  house.  I  did  not  experience 
any  uncomfortable  sensations  in  the  bedroom  appointed 
to  me.  It  was  early  summer-.time  when  there  is  but 
a  short  spell  of  darkness,  and  I  was  on  such  intimate 
terms  with  my  hostess,  herself  a  psychic,  that  I  had 
only  to  say  I  disliked  the  atmosphere  of  my  bedroom, 
to  have  it  changed. 

The  former  mistress  of  the  house  had  been  a  very 
remarkable  woman  whom  I  had  known  intimately. 
She  was  brilliantly  clever  and  accomplished,  and 
charming  to  talk  to,  but  unfortunately  she  took  a 
vivid  interest  in  occultism  of  the  wrong  sort  —  in 
Black  Magic.  Anything  to  do  with  spells,  witchcraft, 
elementals,  incantations,  attracted  her  enormously,  and 
she  had  a  very  considerable  knowledge  of  the  subject. 
I  have  no  doubt  she  could  have  worked  a  great  deal 
of  mischief  had  she  been  so  inclined,  but  luckily  her 
designs  were  more  impish  than  malign. 

I  often  warned  her  that  there  was  undoubted  danger 
in  such  researches,  and  that  she  was  certain  to  attract 
about  her  elementals  of  a  most  undesirable  kind,  but 
my  warnings  went  unheeded,  and  to  the  time  of  her 
death  her  interest  in  the  dark  subject  never  flagged. 

She  had  not  died  in  the  house  I  had  come  to  stay  in, 
but  it  occurred  to  me  as  I  dressed  for  dinner  that  I 
was  in  her  old  bedroom. 

This  suggestion  came  to  me  suddenly,  and  to  the 
accompaniment  of  a  sound.  A  sound  more  felt  than 
heard,  a  sound  known  to  the  spirit  rather  than  to  the 
ear;  a  tiptoe  silence  hovering  on  the  brink  of  sound's 
threshold. 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  235 

My  surroundings  gave  a  very  pleasant  impression. 
A  glorious  sunset  was  flooding  the  west.  My  room 
was  full  of  golden  light,  and  the  window  was  flung 
wide  to  the  warm  summer  air.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  recorded  either  ghostly  or  uncanny,  yet  some- 
thing was  present  which  made  me  uncomfortable. 
Strange  thoughts,  bizarre  fancies,  found  lodgment  in 
my  mind,  and  I  stood  rigid,  listening  intently.  The 
room  was  full  of  secrets.  They  seemed  suddenly  to 
creep  forth  and  whisper  together. 

There  it  was  again !  that  soft  echo  of  a  sound  which 
was  like  no  other  sound.  An  eerie,  uncanny  sensation 
crept  down  my  spine,  a  strange,  undefinable  feeling  of 
uncertainty,  not  yet  amounting  to  fear.  I  moved 
towards  the  corner  of  the  room,  whence  the  sound 
proceeded,  and  as  I  approached,  out  of  that  corner 
dropped  down  a  huge  gray  moth,  a  second  dropped 
down  after  it,  and  both  lay  with  outstretched  wings  on 
the  white  coverlet  of  the  bed. 

Now  I  have  always  had  a  peculiar  antipathy  to 
moths,  the  big  furry  sort.  I  can  handle  a  spider,  and 
bear  with  a  black  beetle,  but  with  big  woolly  moths  I 
cannot  live  happily.  I  saw  one  once  under  a  micro- 
scope, and  it  was  covered  with  horrid  looking  parasites. 
I  am  aware  that  other  creatures  are  similarly  afflicted, 
but  this  microscopic  vision  accentuated  my  horror  of 
all  big  moths.  They  seem  to  me  repulsive,  sinister, 
and  uncanny  creatures.  The  curious  thing  is  that 
though  I  dislike  them  they  adore  me,  and  I  always 
know  that  if  there  is  one  in  my  parish  it  will  find  me 
out. 

On  this  occasion  I  felt  a  very  natural  desire  to  laugh 
at  myself.  Of  course,  the  creatures  had  at  once  dis- 
covered me,  and  this  was  all  that  had  resulted  from 


236  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

my  uncomfortable  sensations.  A  feeling  of  scorn 
swept  over  me.  Two  moths  had  rustled  softly. 
Could  anything  be  more  banal,  more  commonplace? 
I  flung  a  towel  over  them,  and  finished  dressing. 
Then  I  rang  for  the  housemaid. 

When  she  came  I  told  her  she  must  accomplish  the 
destruction  of  the  occupants  of  my  bed.  I  could  see 
no  moths  flying  about  outside,  but  nevertheless  the 
window  must  be  kept  closed  till  I  opened  it  again  in 
the  dark,  before  getting  into  bed. 

She  told  me  that  she  was  always  particular  to  close 
the  windows  before  bringing  in  a  light,  as  the  bats 
were  a  nuisance.  I  assured  her  that  I  had  no  objection 
to  a  room  full  of  bats,  but  I  could  not  sleep  in  a  room 
full  of  moths.  She  promised  to  look  about  the  room 
whilst  it  was  still  light,  and  destroy  any  she  found. 
I  closed  the  window  myself  and  went  down  to  dinner. 

We  were  but  three  women  present ;  my  hostess,  my- 
self, and  a  friend  of  ours,  and  we  spent  a  delightful 
evening  together  talking  of  old  times. 

That  night,  before  beginning  to  undress,  I  blew  out 
my  candle,  and  throwing  up  the  window  I  stood  look- 
ing forth  upon  enchantment.  It  was  still  light,  with 
a  luster  that  filled  all  space,  and  it  seemed  wicked 
to  shut  out  such  beauty.  Westward  the  stars  were 
pale,  but  southward  one  great  dull  red  star  shone  low 
down  on  the  horizon.  The  owls  were  haunting  the 
gardens  with  their  banshee  notes.  It  was  a  night  for 
the  revelation  of  the  fairy  folk,  elves  and  pixies,  fauns 
and  dryads,  elfins,  nymphs  and  satyrs.  A  night  when 
she  tells  her  secrets  to  her  lovers  in  the  psalmody  of 
nature,  when  the  spirits  of  earth,  fire,  air,  and  water 
utter  softly  to  human  souls,  if  they  will  but  incline  the 
car  to  hearken  to  the  message. 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  237 

If  I  want  a  definition  of  God  I  shall  go,  not  to  the 
bell  and  the  book,  but  to  a  starlit,  fragrant  garden, 
where  I  can  look  long  and  deep  into  the  passion  of 
Creation's  eyes.  I  will  be  as  the  old  gray  poet  who 
wrote  — 

"  I  am  he  that  walks  with  the  tender  and  growing  night, 
I  call  the  earth  and  sea,  half  hid  by  the  night. 
Press  close  magnetic,  nourishing  night,  I 

Night  of  the  South  wind,  night  of  the  large,  few  stars." 

Across  the  hushed  magic  came  silver  sweet  the 
strokes  of  eleven  from  the  village  church,  and  the 
spell  was  broken.  I  closed  the  window,  lit  my  candles, 
and  prepared  for  bed. 

Just  before  extinguishing  my  lights,  and  re-opening 
the  window,  I  carried  a  candle  to  the  side  of  the  bed 
with  a  box  of  matches.  What  was  my  horror  on  dis- 
covering that  the  turned-down  bed  and  both  pillows 
were  liberally  strewn  with  enormous  gray  moths. 
The  sight  was  extraordinary,  I  literally  could  not 
believe  my  eyes.  I  stood  there  staring,  and  mechani- 
cally counting  them.  Twenty  —  thirty.  I  turned 
back  to  the  dressing-table  with  the  candle  still  in  my 
hand.  What  was  I  to  do?  If  I  had  the  courage  to 
destroy  them,  what  sort  of  condition  would  the  bed  be 
in  after? 

I  am  writing  of  actual  facts,  and  without  the  least 
exaggeration.  The  smallest  of  those  moths  must  have 
been  quite  an  inch  long  in  their  fat  gray  bodies,  and 
quite  three  inches  long  across  the  wings.  I  thought 
I  knew  most  moths  by  sight  and  name,  but  I  had  never 
seen  any  like  these  before.  What  depressed  me  most 
was  the  fact  that  moths  are  attracted  by  candle-light. 
I  had  been  burning  four  candles  for  quite  twenty 


238  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

minutes,  and  not  a  moth  had  forsaken  the  bed  for  the 
flame.  I  was  positively  certain  that  they  had  not 
flown  in  whilst  I  stood  in  the  dark  of  the  open  window. 
They  were  far  too  big  and  numerous  to  have  escaped 
observation.  What  was  I  to  do?  I  could  not  use 
that  bed,  and  I  now  felt  a  strong  repulsion  for  the 
room.  I  regretted  deeply  that  the  household  must  all 
be  in  bed,  because  I  knew  that  no  description  I  could 
give  would  convey  anything  like  actuality,  and  the 
truth  was  certain  to  appear  wild  exaggeration. 

I  made  up  my  mind  at  once.  I  knew  there  were 
several  unoccupied  rooms  on  either  side  of  me,  and 
taking  my  lighted  candle  I  placed  it,  still  lit,  in  a  basin 
on  the  marble-topped  washstand.  It  should  remain 
lit  all  night,  and  in  the  morning  I  would  come  to  search 
for  victims.  The  other  candles  I  extinguished,  all  but 
one  to  take  with  me,  and  leaving  the  window  still 
shut  I  softly  left  the  room.  I  entered  the  next  bed- 
room and  approached  the  bed.  Of  course,  there  were 
no  sheets,  but  the  white  dust  sheet  covering  the 
blankets  was  spotless  —  there  was  not  a  moth  to  be 
seen  anywhere.  Blowing  out  my  candle  I  opened  the 
window,  and  getting  into  bed  between  the  blankets  I 
was  soon  fast  asleep. 

I  awakened  to  glorious  sunshine,  and  looked  at  my 
wrist  watch,  which  I  had  placed  beside  my  bed.  Six 
o'clock  and  a  lovely  warm  summer  morning. 

I  jumped  out  of  bed,  full  of  curiosity  regarding  my 
visitors  of  over-night,  and  returned  to  my  own  room. 
Not  a  trace  of  a  moth  to  be  seen  anywhere.  The 
candle  had  burnt  itself  out,  no  singed  wings  or  black- 
ened bodies  lay  near.  The  window  was  shut.  I  threw 
it  wide,  and  then  I  went  round  the  room  shaking  cur- 
tains, looking  behind  pictures,  and  climbing  on  a  chair 


HAUNTED  ROOMS  239 

I  examined  the  top  of  the  wardrobe.  Not  the  faintest 
signs  of  the  great  gray  drove  of  the  night  before. 
Where  could  they  all  have  vanished  to? 

I  gave  it  up,  and  got  into  my  own  bed,  to  await  the 
advent  of  my  early  tea.  I  hated  having  to  tell  the 
housemaid  that  I  had  been  driven  into  another  room, 
but  I  knew  she  would  find  out  the  fact  for  herself. 
She  was  obviously  incredulous,  and  assured  me  she  had 
thoroughly  searched  the  room,  and  seen  but  two 
winged  creatures ;  those  she  had  removed  from  the  bed. 
I  had  seen  for  myself  when  coming  to  bed  that  the 
window  had  remained  shut.  She  had  often  seen  one 
or  two  brown  moths  in  the  rooms  at  night,  but  she 
owned  that  never  before  had  she  seen  huge  gray  ones. 

The  matter  was  left  at  that,  and  during  the  day  I 
told  my  hostess  of  my  adventure,  and  she  at  once 
ordered  the  room  I  had  slept  in  to  be  prepared  for  me, 
in  case  I  might  encounter  the  same  difficulties  again. 
I  dressed  for  dinner  in  the  moth-room,  without  catch- 
ing sight  of  one.  When  bedtime  came  we  three 
women  all  entered  the  room  together. 

On  approaching  the  bed,  and  looking  down  on  it, 
no  one  spoke  for  a  moment.  Then  my  fellow  guest 
exclaimed : 

"  Well,  I  must  say  that  if  I  had  not  seen  this  with 
my  own  eyes  I  never  would  have  believed  it." 

The  bed  was  liberally  sprinkled  with  large  gray 
moths. 

My  hostess  shivered.  "  Come  away,  and  let  us 
shut  the  door.  It's  too  horrible,"  she  said. 

During  the  remainder  of  my  visit  I  was  perfectly 
comfortable  in  my  new  room,  and  the  curious  fact 
must  be  stated  that  after  I  had  left  the  moth-room 
the  moths  forsook  it  too.  I  could  discern  a  pitying 


240  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

incredulity  in  the  housemaid's  attitude  towards  me 
afterwards.  She  had  seen  but  two,  and  she  did  not 
believe  in  the  drove. 

My  hostess  and  friend  who  had  witnessed  the 
phenomenon  at  once  agreed  that  there  was  something 
more  in  it  than  an  entomological  curiosity.  I  would 
have  given  much  for  the  opinion  of  a  naturalist. 
What,  I  wonder,  would  he  have  made  of  that  fat,  gray 
flock  sprinkling  the  bed?  What  species  of  moth 
would  he  have  declared  them  to  be? 

I  have  searched  in  many  books  since  and  never  found 
anything  the  least  resembling  them,  and  I  retain  my 
original,  firm  belief  that  they  were  nothing  more  or 
less  than  a  flock  of  elementals,  sent  forth  as  a  prac- 
tical joke  by  a  practiced  magician  on  the  other  side. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"  THE   NEW    JEANNE   D*ARC  " 

BEFORE  writing  on  the  above  subject,  which 
is  proving  to-day  of  absorbing  interest  to  a 
very  large  number  of  people,  Protestant  as 
well  as  Catholic,  I  will  point  out  a  curious  fact  that  is 
occultly  connected  with  it. 

At  certain  periods  in  our  normal  life,  certain  sub- 
jects lying  quite  outside  our  earthly  experience  begin 
quite  suddenly  to  be  talked  of  and  written  upon. 
No  one  knows  why,  no  one,  outside  occultism,  can  even 
form  a  conjecture  why  such  subjects  should  suddenly 
obsess  the  brains  of  a  considerable  number  of  persons, 
why  they  should  crop  up  in  the  most  unexpected  places, 
or  why  they  should  form  the  foundations  of  a  consider- 
able mass  of  literature. 

It  would  appear  as  if  they  were  floating  in  the  air 
at  some  particular  time,  and  masses  of  people  catch 
them  up  like  germs,  and  carry  them  about  until  their 
power  is  exhausted. 

I  will  give  an  instance.  In  the  years  just  before 
the  war  "The  Great  God  Pan"  drifted  across  our 
mental  horizon  and  was  at  once  drawn  into  our  aura. 

No  one  knows  anything  about  "  The  Great  God 
Pan."  He  is  supposed  to  belong  to  mythology,  but 
novelists  of  distinction  at  once  began  to  write  upon 
him,  not  one  after  the  other,  but  simultaneously.  I 
read  at  least  three  thrilling  novels  in  which  he  figured 

241 


242  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

largely,  and  I  myself  was  impelled  to  write  a  novel 
upon  the  same  subject. 

I  began  the  book  knowing  nothing  of  the  god, 
beyond  what  I  could  gather  from  the  London  Library, 
and  Frazer's  "  Golden  Bough,"  but  as  I  proceeded 
I  was  conscious  of  new  information  drifting  in  from 
without,  and  on  finishing  the  book  I  found  that  other 
authors  had  been  at  work  on  the  same  subject. 

"  The  Great  God  Pan  "  appeared  on  the  stage,  and 
a  popular  actress  sang  a  song  about  him.  One  heard 
his  name  mentioned  constantly  in  society,  and  hideous 
stories  were  told  of  him  in  Bohemian  art  circles.  He 
was  the  bugbear  of  the  seance  room,  journalists  men- 
tioned him  in  quite  serious  articles,  and  I  once  heard 
his  name  spoken  from  a  pulpit. 

The  bare  fact  of  this  seemingly  inconsequent 
disease  (for  it  almost  amounted  to  a  disease  with 
us)  drifting  into  our  stolid  British  atmosphere  was 
not  curious  to  the  occultist,  who  is  aware  that  at  cer- 
tain times,  certain  subjects  are  flooded  in  on  us  from 
"  the  other  side  "  by  those  who  have  our  welfare  at 
heart. 

I  never  heard  any  explanation  of  why  Pan  should 
have  come  here  to  play  quite  an  important  part  in  our 
mental  lives,  or  why  he  should  have  obsessed  so  many 
of  us  for  about  a  couple  of  years.  The  more  one 
discovered  about  him  the  less  one  liked  him,  but 
psychics  are  led  to  believe  that  there  are  many  schemes 
of  evolution  hovering  about  us,  and  interpenetrating 
our  own,  though  not  visible  to  our  normal  con- 
sciousness. 

It  may  therefore  be  that  "  The  Great  God  Pan  " 
did  actually  come  into  our  atmosphere,  and  thus  his 
individuality  impressed  itself  upon  those  whose  minds 


"  THE  NEW  JEANNE  D'ARC  "       243 

were  plastic  to  such  impressions.  Possibly  he  arrived 
on  this  earth  much  as  an  aerolite  arrives,  drawn  out 
of  his  own  orbit  by  the  superior  attraction  of  this 
globe. 

"  The  Great  God  Pan  "  was,  what  might  be  termed, 
the  forerunner  of  the  devil's  reincarnation.  The  belief 
in  a  personal  devil  was  rapidly  dying  out  amongst  us, 
in  spite  of  "  The  Sorrows  of  Satan,"  and  the  belief  in 
"  The  Prince  of  this  World  "  so  insisted  upon  through- 
out the  Old  and  New  Testaments. 

There  is  no  more  engrossing  subject  for  the  occultist 
to  indulge  in  than  gathering  together  every  verse  in 
the  Bible  dealing  with  "  The  Evil  One,"  and  trying, 
with  the  aid  of  ancient  traditions,  to  piece  a  coherent 
story  together.  When  one  gets  a  certain  distance  in 
the  study  one  conies  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  a 
great  deal  more  in  it  than  meets  the  eye.  It  is  a  vast 
subject,  and  I  think  the  most  profoundly  occult 
mystery  extant  and  undeciphered. 

The  devil  now  occupies  a  prominent  position  in 
the  collective  thought  of  the  nation.  An  enormous 
number  of  people  believe  now  in  his  existence,  who 
would  have  scorned  the  bare  idea  before  1916.  It 
was  in  that  year  that  he  began  to  loom  large  in  the 
beliefs  of  quite  materially  minded  people,  and  his 
advent  into  actual,  active  existence  at  once  complicated 
matters  terribly. 

Said  a  well-known  writer  to  me,  "  I  think  there  is 
something  in  it.  It's  very  tiresome.  I  was  just 
beginning  to  settle  down  in  my  beliefs,  now  I'm  all 
upset  again  by  this  conception  of  a  personal  adversary 
to  the  Supreme  Ruler." 

In  the  early  weeks  of  1917  a  new  impression  drifted 
in  on  us. 


244  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Some  angel  came  down  and  stirred  the  pool  of  the 
world,  and  left  with  us  "  The  Sacred  Heart." 

"  The  Sacred  Heart "  was  the  forerunner  of  "  The 
New  Jeanne  d'Arc,"  Claire  Ferchaud. 

There  is  nothing  that  has  more  astonished  the 
Catholic  world  than  hearing  "  The  Sacred  Heart " 
talked  of  by  Protestants,  and  actually  adopted  by 
them  as  a  sacred  symbol.  Hitherto  it  has  been  ex- 
clusively a  part  of  Catholic  worship. 

There  was  such  a  demand  for  the  little  metal 
"  Sacred  Heart"  images  (a  figure  of  the  Christ,  with 
hands  outstretched  and  a  flaming  heart  at  His  breast), 
that  can  be  carried  about  in  the  pocket,  that  they  were 
not  to  be  bought  in  England,  and  were  hard  to  procure 
abroad.  Enormous  numbers  had  been  sent  to  the 
front  by  persons  belonging  to  all  denominations,  who 
treasured  one  of  their  own  at  home.  Very  suddenly 
"  The  Sacred  Heart "  became  an  object  of  veneration 
amongst  thousands  to  whom  Roman  Catholicism  was 
anathema. 

Then  came  the  demand  from  France  that  "  The 
Sacred  Heart "  should  be  placed  above  the  tricolor. 

I  had  not  heard  of  Claire  Ferchaud  before  the 
beginning  of  1918,  though  her  Divine  Mission  began 
about  six  years  previously. 

Occultists  began  to  speak  of  her  amongst  them- 
selves as  one  who  would  yet  save  France.  This  hope 
was  never  lost  sight  of  in  the  country's  darkest  hours. 
Now  there  is  a  steadily  growing  demand  amongst  the 
educated  British  public  to  learn  all  that  can  be  known 
about  this  girl  who  has  been  called  "  The  New  Joan 
of  Arc." 

In  1916  she  was  summoned  to  appear  before  an 
Ecclesiastical  Commission  at  Poitiers  in  the  same  room 


"  THE  NEW  JEANNE  D'ARC  "       245 

in  which  "  The  Maid  of  Orleans  "  was  interrogated, 
before  being  placed  at  the  head  of  the  Army  of  deliver- 
ance. 

Both  Claire  Ferchaud  and  her  communications  were 
subjected  to  the  strictest  scrutiny.  The  result  was 
entirely  in  her  favor.  Her  writings  were  examined 
by  Father  Vautfrious,  D.D.,  M.S.D.,  who  declared 
them  inspired,  and  equal  to  those  of  St.  Catherine 
of  Sienna  and  St.  Teresa.  Finally  they  were  taken 
to  Rome,  and  submitted  to  a  commission  appointed 
by  the  Holy  See.  The  result  being  that  she  was 
ordered  to  continue  her  mission.  The  writings  deal 
with  devotion  to  "  The  Sacred  Heart  "  and  the  dignity 
of  priesthood. 

One  is  irresistibly  reminded  of  the  opening  scenes 
at  Lourdes,  whilst  Bernadette  Soubirons  was  alive,  in 
1858.  Again,  one  cannot  but  recall  a  certain  similarity 
betwixt  certain  events  in  the  life  of  the  Maid  of 
Orleans  and  the  events  taking  place  now  in  the  life  of 
Claire  Ferchaud. 

Claire  is  a  girl  twenty-two  years  old,  the  daughter 
of  a  peasant  proprietor  in  the  village  of  Ranfillieres,  a 
mile  from  Lublande,  Deux  Sevres  Dept,  France.  Her 
parents  are  alive,  and  she  has  two  sisters  and  three 
brothers.  The  father  and  one  brother  fought  during 
the  war,  another  brother  was  a  prisoner,  and  the 
youngest  assists  on  the  farm.  One  of  the  sisters  works 
on  the  farm,  and  the  eldest  sister  is  a  religieuse  at  the 
community  of  La  Sagesse. 

Claire  was  tending  her  father's  flocks  when  the  first 
great  revelation  came  to  her  nine  years  ago ;  then  she 
was  but  thirteen  years  old.  She  had  crept  into  a 
thicket  to  read,  and  suddenly  the  Divine  Master  ap- 
peared to  her  and  bade  her  lay  down  her  book.  He. 


246  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

told  her  she  had  been  chosen  for  a  Divine  Mission, 
and  that  He  would  guide  and  instruct  her.  He  showed 
her  "  The  Sacred  Heart "  covered  with  wounds. 

On  recounting  her  vision  to  her  priest,  she  was 
treated  with  coldness  and  disbelief,  and  on  her  telling 
him  two  years  later  that  Our  Lord  daily  appeared  to 
her  in  Holy  Communion  she  was  treated  still  more 
coldly. 

Until  he  himself  received  a  sign  he  maintained  an 
attitude  of  utter  disbelief.  What  happened  soon  after 
whilst  he  was  celebrating  Holy  Mass,  entirely  con- 
vinced him. 

At  that  particular  part  of  the  Canon  when  the  priest 
divides  the  Sacred  Species  he  saw  blood  issue  from  the 
Sacred  Host.  Nor  was  this  all.  A  week  afterwards 
he  observed  Claire  Ferchaud  in  a  trance  in  his  own 
church,  and  he  saw  her  using  a  handkerchief  as  if 
wiping  some  object  in  front  of  her,  which  he  could  not 
see.  Blood  stains  appeared  on  the  handkerchief,  and 
increased  as  she  repeated  the  action. 

Filled  with  amazement  he  sought  later  for  an  ex- 
planation, and  she  told  him. 

"  Our  Lord  appeared  before  me  suffering  greatly 
because  of  the  terrible  sins  of  the  world,  and  He  asked 
me  to  do  for  Him  what  Veronica  did  on  the  road  to 
Calvary.  To  wipe  away  the  bloody  sweat  that  trickled 
down  His  face.  I  saw  the  Sacred  Heart,  riddled  with 
wounds,  and  the  deepest  wound  of  all  was  inflicted  by 
France,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Church,  on  whom 
He  had  lavished  so  deep  a  love.  Once  before  He 
appeared  to  me  walking  upon  ears  of  corn  which  He 
crushed  to  powder." 

The  priest  after  hearing  this  explanation  took  the 
handkerchief  to  the  bishop,  who  listened  to  the 


"  THE  NEW  JEANNE  D'ARC  "       247 

wonderful  story  with  sympathetic  attention.  He  ex- 
amined the  blood-stained  handkerchief  minutely,  and 
sent  for  a  nun.  "  If,"  he  said,  "  the  stains  are  what 
they  are  represented  to  be  they  cannot  be  washed 
out." 

The  bishop  put  the  matter  to  the  test,  and  watched 
the  nun  endeavoring  to  remove  the  stains.  It  was 
all  in  vain,  and  the  bishop  standing  by  his  own  test 
declared  the  mission  of  Claire  Ferchaud  to  be  Divine. 

Every  night,  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock, 
Claire  beholds  apparitions,  and  receives  the  sacred 
teaching  that  was  promised,  and  it  was  in  1916  that 
she  was  ordered  to  Poitiers  to  undergo  cross-examina- 
tion. 

Unfortunately  the  further  development  of  Claire 
Ferchaud's  mission  cannot  yet  be  communicated  to 
the  world,  but  in  time  it  will  be,  and  very  startling  and 
wonderful  it  will  seem. 

Meanwhile  she  encountered  very  strong  opposition. 
With  considerable  difficulty  the  Deputy  of  Vendee 
arranged  a  meeting  between  Claire  and  M.  Poincare. 
Claire  implored  him  to  permit  the  emblem  of  the 
Sacred  Heart  to  be  placed  on  the  Standards  of  France, 
as  the  one  condition  of  success.  Unfortunately  M. 
Poincare  had  to  refuse,  owing  to  political  reasons, 
though  as  proof  of  her  mission  she  disclosed  an  inci- 
dent only  known  to  him  which  happened  after  the 
victory  of  the  Marne. 

The  same  adverse  influence  operated  at  her  inter- 
view with  M.  Clemenceau.  This  appointment  was 
arranged  by  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims,  Cardinal 
Lucon.  The  Archbishop  implored  M.  Clemenceau  to 
fix  a  day  of  public  intercession  for  France.  This  also 
the  Prime  Minister  of  France  had  reluctantly  to  refuse. 


248  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

It  is  openly  stated  that  before  the  later  French 
successes  the  emblem  of  the  Sacred  Heart  was  secretly 
sewn  upon  the  flags  of  France,  and  it  is  also  affirmed 
that  General  Foch  is  a  devoted  lover  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  and  bears  its  emblem  with  him  wherever  he 
goes. 

Great  changes  have  come  about  in  the  village  where 
Claire  Ferchaud  dwells.  Formerly  a  sleepy,  neglected 
little  place,  it  is  now  converted  into  a  scene  of  the 
greatest  activity. 

From  all  parts  of  France  the  pilgrims  come  —  some 
on  foot,  having  walked  many  miles,  some  in  motors  and 
horse-driven  vehicles.  Hundreds  of  soldiers  find  their 
way  there,  and  it  is  estimated  that  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  thousand  people  pass  through  Lublande  in  a 
month. 

With  the  consent  of  her  bishop,  Claire  Ferchaud 
has  formed  a  small  community  of  nine,  and  is  now 
established  in  a  temporary  convent  adjacent  to  her 
parish  church  at  Lublande.  It  is  believed  that  her 
Divine  Mission  will  be  accomplished  in  1922,  and  that 
she  will  then  be  released  from  earthly  life. 

Claire  has  predicted  a  stormy  period  for  France 
after  peace  has  been  signed.  According  to  her 
prophecy  there  will  be  violent  unrest  until  rulers  arise 
who  possess  firm  religious  convictions.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  war  she  affirmed  that  the  French 
Army  would  never  prosper  until  the  troops  were  com- 
manded by  a  true  son  of  the  Church.  This  affirma- 
tion she  claimed  to  receive  from  a  Divine  source. 
When  Marechal  Foch  took  over  the  supreme  command 
she  was  satisfied  that  victory,  so  far  as  the  French 
arms  were  concerned,  was  assured. 

As  all  the  world  knows,  and  as  ail  may  learn  who 


"  THE  NEW  JEANNE  D'ARC  "      249 

read  Hyndman's  life  of  his  old  friend  Clemenceau,  the 
Prime  Minister  of  France,  like  the  majority  of  his 
colleagues,  is  frankly  atheistical.  Claire  Ferchaud 
claims  to  have  received  the  Divine  intimation  that  until 
this  condition  of  mind  is  superseded  by  a  public 
acknowledgment  of  a  supreme  divine  power,  a  supreme 
arbiter  over  the  destinies  of  the  world,  the  affairs  of 
France  can  never  prosper.  She  predicts  that  in  1922 
rulers  will  arise  who  will  bow  before  a  Power  superior 
to  their  own  human  energies. 

The  first  part  of  her  prophecy  has  come  true.  A 
man  of  God  won  his  way  to  the  front,  and  saved 
France  and  the  Allies  at  the  darkest  hour  of  their 
tribulation. 

The  supreme  command  was  vested  in  a  man  of  pro- 
found religious  convictions,  who  carried  his  beliefs  and 
observances  openly  into  the  arena  of  war. 

I  translate  the  words  written  lately  to  me  by  one 
who  has  served  under  Ferdinand  Foch.  They  throw 
a  brilliant  light  upon  a  great  soul. 

"  I  can  see  him  now,  alone  and  unattended,  at  an 
hour  when  the  Church  of  Cassel  was  deserted,  praying 
and  seeking  comfort  in  the  great  sorrow,  of  which  he 
never  spoke.  He  had  lost  his  only  son,  and  one  of  his 
daughters  was  widowed.  In  spite  of  his  indomitable 
energy  there  was  about  him  an  air  of  profound  melan- 
choly and  sadness. 

"  At  certain  moments  his  eyes  seemed  to  say,  '  I 
approach  the  twilight  of  my  life  in  the  consciousness 
of  being  a  good  servant  who  will  repose  in  the  peace 
of  God.  My  faith  in  life  eternal,  in  a  good  God,  has 
sustained  me  in  my  hardest  hours.  Prayer  has 
illumined  my  soul.  See  to  it,  you  young  men  of 
France,  who  are  without  a  great  ideal,  without  any 


250  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

conception  of  the  spiritual  side  of  life,  there  can  be 
nothing  for  you  but  discouragement  and  feebleness. 
We  demand  of  you  great  sacrifices  to  the  end.  Accept 
those  sacrifices  as  I  accept  mine,  who  believe  that  spirit 
must  prevail  over  matter.'  " 


CHAPTER  XX 

HAUNTED   HOUSES  — "  CASTEL   A    MARE  " 

I   HAVE  never  yet   met  any  one   who  was  not 
interested  in   haunted  houses.     Even  the  most 
blatant    skeptic    always    wants    to    "hear    all 
about  it,"  though  he  has  predetermined  to  treat  the 
story  with  his  habitual  scoffing  incredulity.     Of  all 
the  departments  of  psychical  research  none  commands 
more  general  interest  than  a  "  spooky "  house,  and 
there  are  few  people  who  cannot  name  a  dwelling  which 
has   acquired   the   reputation    for   being   haunted   by 
denizens  of  the  other  world. 

Of  course,  any  house  that  falls  into  serious  disrepair, 
and  remains  unoccupied  for  some  long  period,  any 
dwelling  whose  owner  permits  decay  to  proceed  un- 
checked, and  dilapidation  to  run  its  course,  at  once 
suggests  the  thought  to  the  beholder,  "  what  a  haunted 
looking  old  place,"  and  rumor,  in  such  cases,  quickly 
supplies  all  the  old  phenomena,  even  though  tradition 
be  totally  absent.  Tramps  are  always  on  the 
lookout  for  such  shelters,  and  their  damped-down 
fires  catch  the  eye  of  some  scared  rustic  who  happens 
to  be  passing  in  the  dark.  Rats  and  the  winds  of 
heaven  play  hide-and-seek  through  the  deserted  rooms 
and  corridors,  and  owls  find  sanctuary  in  the  surround- 
ing gardens.  Their  cries,  varying  from  the  exultant 
shriek  to  the  mournful  wail,  add  a  weird  suggestiveness 
to  the  abiding  melancholy  of  such  abandoned  habita- 
tions. 


252  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

There  is  so  much  talk  nowadays  of  hauntings  and 
ghosts,  that  it  seems  strange  we  should  know  so 
very  little  about  them.  I  have  never  heard  a  really 
convincing  explanation  of  why  ghosts  should  haunt 
certain  houses,  and  I  have  no  explanation  of  my  own 
to  offer.  If  ghosts  could  be  commanded,  if  one  could 
be  sure  of  witnessing  certain  phenomena  that  have 
been  elaborately  described  to  one,  then  there  might 
be  the  ghost  of  a  chance  of  advantageous  investigation. 
No  such  opportunities  seem  to  be  afforded  the  in- 
vestigator. He  may  watch  for  months  and  see  noth- 
ing, yet  the  elusive  wraith  may  turn  up  before  several 
witnesses  on  the  very  night  after  he  has  abandoned 
his  quest  out  of  sheer  boredom  and  discouragement. 

Some  seven  years  ago,  whilst  wintering  in  Torquay, 
I  heard  a  great  deal  of  gossip  about  a  villa  on  the  War- 
berries,  which  was  reputed  to  be  badly  haunted.  For 
the  last  forty  to  fifty  years  nobody,  it  was  said,  had 
been  able  to  live  in  it  for  any  length  of  time.  Several 
people  asserted  that  they  had  heard  screams  coming 
from  it  as  they  passed  along  the  high  road,  and  no 
occupant  had  ever  been  able  to  keep  a  door  shut  or 
even  locked. 

The  house  is  at  present  being  pulled  down,  therefore 
I  commit  no  indiscretion  in  describing  the  phenomena 
connected  with  it. 

"  Castel  a  Mare  "  is  situated  in  what  house  agents 
would  describe  as  "  a  highly  residential  quarter."  It 
is  surrounded  by  numerous  villas,  inhabited  by  people 
who  are  all  very  "  well  to  do,"  and  who  make  Torquay 
their  permanent  home.  The  majority  of  these  villas 
lie  right  back  from  the  road,  and  are  hidden  in  their 


HAUNTED  HOUSES  253 

own  luxuriant  gardens,  but  the  haunted  house  is  one 
of  several  whose  back  premises  open  straight  on  to 
the  road. 

No  dwelling  could  have  looked  more  commonplace 
or  uninteresting.  It  was  built  in  the  form  of  a  high 
box,  three  storied.  It  was  hideous  and  inartistic  in 
the  extreme,  but  along  its  frontage  looking  towards 
the  sea  and  hidden  from  the  road,  there  ran  a  wide 
balcony  on  to  which  the  second  floor  rooms  opened, 
and  from  there  the  view  over  the  garden  was  charm- 
ing. When  I  first  went  to  look  at  it,  dilapidation  had 
set  in.  Jackdaws  and  starlings  were  busy  in  the 
chimneys,  the  paint  was  peeling  off  the  walls,  and  most 
of  the  windows  were  broken.  Year  after  year  those 
windows  were  mended,  but  they  never  remained  intact 
for  more  than  a  week,  and  during  the  war  there  has 
been  no  attempt  at  renewal.  Even  the  agents'  boards, 
"  To  be  let  or  sold  "  dropped  one  by  one  from  their 
stems,  as  if  in  sheer  weariness  of  so  fruitless  an  an- 
nouncement. 

It  was  not  long  before  I  obtained  the  loan  of  the 
keys,  and  proceeded  to  "  take  the  atmosphere."  It  was 
decidedly  unhealthful,  I  concluded,  though  I  neither 
heard  nor  saw  anything  unusual  during  the  hour  I  spent 
alone  in  quietly  wandering  through  the  deserted  rooms. 
I  found  no  trace  of  tramps,  and  all  the  closed 
windows  were  thickly  cobwebbed  inside,  an  important 
fact  to  notice  in  psychic  research.  I  fixed  upon 
the  bathroom  and  one  other  small  room,  as  the  foci 
of  the  trouble,  and  left  the  house  with  no  other 
strong  impression  than  that  my  movements  had  been 
closely  watched,  by  some  one  unseen  by  me.  It  was 
no  uncommon  sight  in  pre-war  days  to  see  several 


254  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

smart  motor  cars  drawn  up  at  the  gate.  Frivolous 
parties  of  explorers  in  search  of  a  thrill  drove 
in  from  the  surrounding  neighborhood,  and  romped 
gayly  through  the  house  and  out  again,  and  I  discovered 
that  several  of  those  visitors  had  distinctly  felt  that 
they  were  being  followed  about  and  watched. 

My  husband  and  I  were  naturally  much  interested 
in  this  haunted  dwelling,  so  accessible,  and  so  near 
to  our  own  house.  We  determined  that  if  we  could 
make  friends  with  the  owner  we  would  do  a  little 
investigation  on  our  own.  Numerous  people,  on  the 
plea  that  the  house  might  suit  them  as  a  residence, 
got  the  loan  of  the  keys,  and  spent  an  hour  or  two 
inside  the  place,  wandering  about  the  house  and 
garden,  but  the  owner  was  getting  tired  of  this  rush 
of  spurious  house-hunters.  He  was  beginning  to  ask 
for  bona  fides,  so  we  determined  honestly  to  state  our 
purpose. 

The  proprietor  was  an  old  builder  who  owned 
several  other  houses.  He  received  me  very  civilly, 
even  gratefully.  He  would  willingly  give  us  the  keys 
for  as  long  a  period  as  we  required  them.  "  Castel  a 
Mare  "  brought  him  extreme  bad  luck ;  he  longed  to  be 
rid  of  it,  and  he  added  that  after  our  investigations,  if 
my  husband  could  give  the  house  a  clean  bill  of  health 
it  would  be  of  enormous  benefit  to  him,  in  enabling 
him  to  let  or  sell  it.  He  did  not  seem  very  hopeful, 
but  stated  it  to  be  his  opinion  that  the  hauntings  were 
all  nonsense,  and  that  the  screams  people  heard  were 
the  cries  of  some  peacocks  that  lived  in  a  property 
not  far  off.  This  sounded  very  reasonable,  and  I 
promised  him  that  if  we  could  honestly  state  that  the 
house  was  perfectly  unhealthful,  we  would  permit  our 
conclusions  to  be  made  public. 


HAUNTED  HOUSES  255 

My  husband  and  I  decided  that  the  hour  one  p.  m. 
till  two  p.  m.  would  be  the  quietest  and  least  conspicu- 
ous time  in  which  to  investigate.  Doubtless  the  night 
would  have  been  better  still,  but  it  would  have  created 
too  much  excitement  in  the  neighborhood,  and  callers 
to  see  "  how  we  were  bearing  up  "  would  have  defeated 
our  object.  Between  one  and  two  all  Torquay  would 
be  lunching,  and  we  could  easily  slip  in  unobserved, 
and  we  would  require  neither  lights  nor  warm  com- 
forts. 

We  started  at  once,  my  husband  keeping  the  keys, 
and  making  himself  responsible  for  the  doors. 
Though  the  window-panes  were  badly  broken  there 
were  no  openings  large  enough  to  admit  a  small  child, 
and,  as  I  have  said,  the  network  of  cobwebs  within 
was  evidence  that  no  human  being  entered  the  house  by 
the  windows.  The  front  door  lock  was  in  good  order, 
and  so  were  most  of  the  other  locks  in  the  house.  We 
shut  ourselves  in,  and  after  a  thorough  examination  of 
the  premises  we  mounted  to  the  first  floor.  Three 
rooms  opened  on  to  it,  belonging  to  the  principal  bed- 
room—  a  smaller  room  and  a  bathroom  opening  out 
of  the  big  bedroom.  My  husband  closed  all  the  doors, 
and  we  sat  down  on  the  lower  steps  of  the  bare  stair- 
case leading  to  the  floor  above.  That  day  we  drew 
an  absolute  blank,  and  at  two  o'clock  we  closed  every 
door  in  the  house,  and  just  inside  the  front  door  we 
made  a  careless  looking  arrangement  of  twigs,  dead 
leaves,  pieces  of  straw  and  dust,  which  could  not  fail 
to  betray  the  passing  of  human  feet,  should  anybody 
possess  a  duplicate  key  to  the  front  door  and  enter  by 
that  means. 

The  second  day  we  found  our  twig  and  straw  ar- 
rangements intact,  but  not  a  single  door  was  shut, 


256  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

all  were  thrown  defiantly  wide.  This  seemed  rather 
promising  and  we  went  upstairs  to  our  seat  on  the 
steps,  and  carefully  reclosing  the  doors  immediately 
in  front  of  us,  sat  down  to  await  events. 

Quite  half  an  hour  must  have  passed  when  suddenly 
a  click  made  us  both  look  up.  The  handle  of  the  door, 
but  a  couple  of  yards  distant  from  me,  leading  into  the 
small  room,  was  turning,  and  the  door  quietly  opened 
wide  enough  to  admit  the  passing  of  a  human  being. 
It  was  a  bright  sunny  day,  and  one  could  see  the  brass 
knob  turning  round  quite  distinctly.  We  saw  no  form 
of  any  sort,  and  the  door  remained  half  open.  For 
perhaps  a  couple  of  moments  we  awaited  developments, 
then  our  attention  was  suddenly  switched  off  the  door 
by  the  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  running  along  the 
bare  boards  on  the  corridor  above  us.  My  husband 
rushed  up  and  searched  each  empty  room,  but  neither 
saw  anything  nor  heard  anything  more.  Before 
leaving  the  house  we  shut  all  doors,  and  locked  all 
that  would  lock.  Such  was  the  meager  extent  of  our 
second  day's  investigations. 

On  the  third  day  the  doors  were  all  found  wide 
flung.  No  door  opened  before  our  eyes  as  on  our 
former  visit,  but  a  brushing  sound  was  heard  ascending 
the  stairs,  as  if  from  some  one  pressing  close  against 
the  wall. 

For  about  a  fortnight  nothing  happened  beyond  what 
I  have  recounted,  but  I  was  strongly  conscious  that 
we  were  being  watched.  The  most  unhealthful  spots 
were  the  bathroom,  a  servants'  room  entered  by  a 
staircase  leading  from  the  kitchen,  and  the  stable,  a 
small  building  immediately  to  the  right  of  the  house. 
The  bathroom  was  in  great  disrepair,  long  strips  of 
paper  hung  from  the  walls,  and  an  air  of  profound 


HAUNTED  HOUSES  257 

depression  pervaded  it.  Obviously  it  had  once  been 
merely  a  large  cupboard,  and  it  had  a  window  ad- 
mitting light  from  a  passage  behind  it. 

We  had  never  once  failed  to  find  every  door  which 
we  had  closed  thrown  wide  on  our  return,  and  one 
day  we  locked  the  bathroom,  and  removing  the  key 
we  looked  about  for  some  spot  in  which  to  secrete  it. 
On  that  floor  was  nothing  large  enough  to  hide  even 
so  small  an  object  as  a  key,  so  we  took  it  downstairs 
to  the  dining-room.  In  a  corner  lay  a  rag  of  linoleum 
about  six  inches  square,  under  this  we  placed  the  bath- 
room key  and  left  the  house. 

That  afternoon  a  house  agent  called  and  asked  for 
the  loan  of  the  keys.  He  told  us  that  a  brave  widow, 
who  knew  the  history  of  the  house,  thought  it  might 
suit  her  to  live  in,  and  he  proposed  to  take  her 
over  it  and  point  out  its  charms.  He  would  return 
the  keys  to  us  directly  afterwards.  I  took  advantage 
of  this  occasion  to  say  to  the  agent  that  probably  the 
screams  some  people  had  heard  proceeded  from  the 
peacocks  in  the  neighborhood. 

He  shook  his  head  and  answered,  "  We  hoped  that 
might  prove  to  be  the  case,  but  we  have  ascertained 
that  it  is  not  so."  He  seemed  despondent  about  the 
place,  even  though  what  we  had  to  tell  him  was  as  yet 
nothing  very  formidable  or  exciting.  What  we  did 
not  tell  him  was  that  we  had  locked  up  the  bathroom, 
and  hidden  the  key.  We  left  him  to  discover  that  fact 
for  himself. 

He  returned  with  the  keys  in  about  an  hour,  and 
I  asked  him  what  the  widow  thought  of  "  Castel  a 
Mare." 

"  She  thinks  something  might  be  made  of  it.  The 
cheapness  attracts  her,"  he  answered. 


258  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

"  But  it  will  need  so  much  doing  to  it,"  I  demurred. 
"  What  did  she  think  of  the  bathroom?  " 

"  She  said  it  only  needed  cleaning  and  repapering. 
The  bath  itself  she  found  in  good  enough  condition." 

So  the  bathroom  door  was  open,  in  spite  of  our 
having  locked  it  and  hidden  the  key ! 

After  the  agent  had  gone  we  went  to  the  house. 
Every  door  stood  wide.  The  bathroom  key  was  still 
in  its  hiding-place,  and  the  door  open.  We  replaced 
the  key.  The  ghosts  laughed  to  scorn  such  securities 
as  locks  and  keys. 

For  a  month  or  two  we  pursued  our  investigations, 
then  we  returned  the  keys  to  the  owner.  Though  we 
had  seen  and  heard  so  little  it  was  impossible  to  give 
the  house  a  clean  bill  of  health,  and  the  old  builder 
was  much  cast  down.  A  few  days  afterwards  we 
received  a  letter  from  him  offering  us  the  house  as  a 
free  gift.  It  would  pay  him  to  be  rid  of  the  ground 
rent,  and  the  place  was  as  useless  to  him  as  to  any  one 
else.  We  thanked  him  and  refused  the  gift. 

About  this  period  I  was  lucky  enough  to  get  into 
touch  with  a  former  tenant  of  "  Castel  a  Mare,"  and 
this  lady  most  kindly  gave  me  many  details  of  her 
residence  there.  About  thirty  years  ago  she  occupied 
it  with  her  father  and  mother,  and  they  were  the  last 
family  to  live  in  it  for  any  length  of  time,  and  for 
many  years  it  has  remained  empty. 

Soon  after  their  arrival  this  family  discovered  that 
there  was  something  very  much  amiss  with  their  new 
residence.  The  house,  the  garden,  and  the  stable  were 
decidedly  uncanny,  but  it  was  some  time  before  they 
would  admit,  even  to  themselves,  that  the  strange  hap- 
penings were  of  a  supernatural  order. 

The  phenomena  fell  under  three  headings :  a  piercing 


HAUNTED  HOUSES  259 

scream  heard  continually,  at  any  hour  and  during  all 
seasons;  continuous  steps  running  along  corridors, 
and  up  and  down  stairs;  constant  lockings  of  doors 
by  unseen  hands. 

The  scream  was  decidedly  the  most  unnerving  of 
the  various  phenomena.  The  family  lived  in  constant 
dread  of  it.  Sometimes  it  came  from  the  garden, 
sometimes  from  inside  the  house.  One  morning  whilst 
they  sat  at  breakfast,  they  were  violently  startled  by 
this  horrible  sound  coming  from  the  inner  hall,  just 
outside  the  room  in  which  they  sat.  It  took  but  a 
moment  to  throw  open  the  door,  but,  as  usual,  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen. 

On  another  occasion  the  family  doctor  had  just 
arrived  at  the  front  door,  and  was  about  to  ring,  when 
he  was  startled  by  the  scream  coming  from  inside  the 
house.  This  doctor  still  lives  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  is  one  of  many  people  who  can  bear  witness  to 
the  fact. 

The  footsteps  of  unseen  people  kept  the  family 
pretty  busy.  They  were  always  running  to  the  doors 
to  see  who  was  hurrying  past,  and  up  and  down  stairs. 
Very  soon  the  drawing-room  became  extremely  un- 
comfortable, and  practically  uninhabitable.  It  was 
always  full  of  unseen  people  moving  about.  The  lady 
of  the  house  never  felt  herself  alone,  and  when  she 
found  herself  locked  into  her  own  room,  the  behavior 
of  her  astral  guests  seemed  to  her  to  have  become 
intolerable.  The  master  of  the  house  no  more  escaped 
these  attentions  than  did  the  rest  of  the  inhabitants, 
and  finally  all  keys  had  to  be  removed  from  all  doors. 

One  night  some  guests,  after  getting  into  bed,  heard 
some  one  open  the  door  of  their  room  and  enter. 
Astonishment  kept  them  silent,  and  in  a  minute  or 


260  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

two  their  visitor  quietly  withdrew  and  closed  the  door 
again.  They  concluded  that  it  must  have  been  their 
hostess,  and  that  thinking  they  were  asleep  she  had  not 
spoken,  yet  still  they  thought  the  incident  very  strange. 
The  next  morning  they  discovered  that  no  member  of 
the  household  had  entered  their  room. 

On  another  occasion  a  lady  who  had  come  to  help 
nurse  a  sick  sister  saw,  one  night,  a  strange  woman 
dressed  in  black  velvet  walk  downstairs. 

Animals  fared  badly  at  "  Castel  a  Mare."  A  large 
dog  belonging  to  the  family  was  often  found  cowering 
and  growling  in  abject  fear  of  something  visible  to  it, 
but  not  to  the  human  inhabitants,  and  the  harness 
horse  showed  such  an  invincible  objection  to  its  stable, 
that  it  could  only  be  got  in  by  backing. 

Later  on  I  was  told  that  a  member  of  the  Psychical 
Society  had  visited  "  Castel  a  Mare,"  and  had  pro- 
nounced the  garden  to  be  more  haunted  than  the  house. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  how  absolutely  untenable 
badly  haunted  houses  become.  No  matter  how 
skeptical,  how  resolutely  material  the  tenants  may  be, 
the  phenomena  wear  them  down  to  a  humble  surrender 
at  last.  After  all,  what  can  people  do  but  quit  a  resi- 
dence which  is  constantly  showing  incontrovertible 
evidence  that  it  is  possessed  by  numerous  unseen  en- 
tities that  defy  analysis? 

Every  one  is  interested  in  getting  rid  of  this  weird 
disturbance,  but  how  to  do  it?  The  skeptic  is  resolute 
in  unmasking  the  fraud,  but  finds  himself  balked  by 
intangibility.  He  hears  the  scream  at  his  door,  and 
rushes  to  arrest  the  miscreant,  but  sees  no  one  to 
grapple  with.  Domestic  difficulties  become  acute. 
No  warning  is  given,  no  wages  asked.  The  servants 
decamp,  too  scared  to  care  for  anything  but  putting 


HAUNTED  HOUSES  261 

distance  between  themselves  and  the  nameless  dread. 
Visitors 'begin  to  fight  shy  of  the  house.  They  have 
heard  the  screams. 

Month  after  month  the  master  of  the  house,  thinking 
of  his  rent,  and  his  reputation  for  sanity,  and  what  the 
loss  of  both  would  mean  to  him,  clings  to  skepticism  as 
his  only  hope  and  refuge.  He  is  not  going  to  be  driven 
forth  by  any  such  stuff  and  nonsense  as  ghosts !  Why ! 
there  are  no  such  things!  "Seen  things?  heard 
things?  "  Well,  yes,  he  has,  but,  of  course,  there  must 
be  some  rational  explanation.  A  man  who  has  fought 
for  king  and  country  is  not  going  to  be  defeated  and 
put  to  flight  by  a  pack  of  silly  women's  stories.  He 
will  soon  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  whole  affair,  then 
woe  betide  the  practical  joker! 

When  alone  he  racks  his  brains  in  vain.  He  is 
furious  with  himself  for  having  heard  the  scream,  and 
tells  himself  he  must  be  "  going  dotty."  He  is  puzzled, 
baffled,  irritated,  but  more  determined  than  ever  to 
"  stick  it  out."  Who  can  the  "  joker "  be  who  is 
demoralizing  his  household,  who  has  even  dared  to 
lock  him  into  his  own  room?  He  thinks  of  his  wife 
and  family,  and  of  their  shattered  nerves;  he  thinks 
of  his  terrified  servants,  and  of  his  dog,  which  can  no 
longer  be  persuaded  to  enter  the  house.  He  feels  he 
must  look  elsewhere  for  the  disturber  of  his  peace. 
But  where?  He  keeps  careful  watch  unknown  (as 
he  thinks)  to  his  family.  The  steps  approach  him, 
pass  close  to  him,  then  die  away  in  the  distance,  leaving 
him  fuming,  impotent.  He  finds  it  necessary  to  wipe 
his  brow,  which  enrages  him  still  more.  At  dead  of 
night  he  watches  on  the  staircase,  with  all  lights  full 
on. 

Silence,   utter   silence!     Absolutely   nothing   to   be 


262  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

seen  or  heard.  He  thinks  of  going  to  bed.  He  always 
said  the  whole  thing  was  "  tommy  rot."  The  deathly 
silence  is  suddenly  rent  by  a  piercing  scream  at  his 
very  elbow,  and  he  leaps  to  his  feet,  growling  out  an 
oath  below  his  breath.  He  looks  wildly  round  on 
every  side  of  him.  Nothing!  Something  strange  is 
happening  to  his  head.  He  passes  his  hand  over  his 
hair.  It  seems  to  be  creeping  along  his  scalp,  and  he 
thinks  of  the  quills  of  a  porcupine.  "  What  the  devil 
is  he  to  do?"  "Go  to  bed,"  answers  inclination, 
"  you're  doing  no  good  here.  Yes !  Go  to  bed ;  that's 
the  sensible  thing  to  do." 

The  next  morning  every  one  asks  him  if  he  heard 
"it."  He  acknowledges  to  himself  that  his  temper  is 
becoming  vile. 

The  day  comes  when  he  is  left  alone  with  his  family. 
The  staff  has  fled  and  he  feels  rather  broken. 

At  last  he  gives  in,  and  agrees  to  seek  another  home, 
but  it  is  not  to  the  ghosts  he  gives  in,  but  to  the  nervous 
fancies  of  a  pack  of  silly  women.  He  feels  wonder- 
fully light-hearted,  however,  now  that  his  mind  is  made 
up,  and  a  glow  of  magnanimity  pervades  him.  "If 
you  do  a  thing  at  all  do  it  well  and  at  once,"  he  tells 
himself,  and  promptly  hires  another  house  in  another 
neighborhood. 

When  questioned  by  his  men  friends  he  laughs. 
The  man  in  the  street  might  understand  certain  things 
that  he  could  tell,  but  the  man  in  the  club,  never! 
"  All  tommy  rot,  my  dear  chap,  but  my  wife  got  nerv- 
ous, and  the  servants!  You  know  what  they  are. 
Scared  by  the  scratch  of  a  mouse.  For  the  women's 
sake  I  thought  it  best  to  quit.  You  know  what  women 
are,  when  they  once  get  an  idea  into  their  heads ! " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   SEQUEL 

IN  1917  a  friend  rang  me  up  and  asked  me  if  I 
would  form  one  of  a  party  of  investigation  at 
"  Castel  a  Mare."     The  services  of  a  medium  had 
been  secured,  and  a  soldier  on  leave,  who  was  deeply 
immersed  in  psychic  research,  was  in  high  hopes  of 
getting  some  genuine  results. 

I  accepted  the  invitation  because  a  certain  incident 
had  once  more  roused  my  curiosity  in  the  haunted 
house. 

During  our  investigations  I  had  been  disappointed 
at  not  hearing  the  much-talked-of  scream,  the  more 
so  after  learning  from  the  former  tenants  how  very 
often  they  had  heard  it.  When  I  did  at  last  hear  it 
I  was  walking  past  the  house  on  a  very  hot  summer 
morning,  about  eleven  o'clock.  I  was  not  thinking 
of  the  house,  and  had  just  passed  it  on  my  way  home, 
when  a  piercing  scream  arrested  my  attention.  I 
wheeled  round  instantly;  there  was  not  a  doubt  as  to 
where  the  scream  came  from,  but  unfortunately, 
though  there  were  people  on  the  road,  there  was  no 
one  near  enough  to  bear  witness.  The  scream  appeared 
to  come  from  some  one  in  abject  terror,  and  would 
have  arrested  the  attention  of  any  one  who  happened 
to  be  passing.  I  mean  that  had  no  haunted  house 
stood  there,  had  the  scream  proceeded  from  any  other 
villa,  I  am  sure  that  any  passer-by  would  have  halted 
wonderingly,  and  awaited  further  developments. 

263 


264  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

"  Castel  a  Mare  "  lay  in  absolute  silence,  under  the 
blazing  sunshine,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  I  walked  on. 
I  could  now  understand  what  it  must  have  meant  to 
live  in  that  house,  in  constant  dread  of  that  weird  and 
hideous  sound  resounding  through  the  rooms  or  gar- 
den. 

This  incident  made  me  eager  to  join  my  friend's 
party,  and  on  reaching  the  house  I  found  a  small  crowd 
assembled. 

The  medium,  myself,  and  four  other  women.  The 
soldier,  and  an  elderly  and  burly  builder  belonging  to 
the  neighborhood,  who  was  interested  in  psychic  re- 
search. Eight  persons  in  all. 

As  there  was  no  chair  or  furniture  of  any  description 
in  the  house,  we  carried  in  a  small  empty  box  from  a 
rubbish  heap  outside,  and  followed  the  medium  through 
the  rooms.  She  elected  to  remain  in  the  large  bed- 
room, on  the  first  floor,  out  of  which  opened  the 
bathroom,  and  she  sat  down  on  the  box  and  leaned 
her  back  against  the  wall,  whilst  we  lounged  about 
the  room  and  awaited  events.  It  was  a  sunny  sum- 
mer afternoon,  and  the  many  broken  panes  of  glass 
throughout  the  house  admitted  plenty  of  air. 

After  some  minutes  it  was  plain  to  see  that  the 
medium  had  fallen  into  a  trance.  Her  eyes  were 
closed,  and  she  lay  back  as  if  in  sound  sleep.  Time 
passed,  nothing  happened,  we  were  all  rather  silent, 
as  I  had  warned  the  party  that  though  we  were  in  a 
room  at  the  side  of  the  house  farthest  from  the  road, 
our  voices  could  plainly  be  heard  by  passers-by,  and 
we  wanted  no  interference. 

Just  as  we  were  all  beginning  to  feel  rather  bored 
and  tired  of  standing,  the  medium  sprang  to  her  feet 
with  surprising  agility,  pouring  out  a  volume  of  violent 


THE  SEQUEL  265 

language.  Her  voice  had  taken  on  the  deep  growling 
tones  of  an  infuriated  man,  who  advanced  menac- 
ingly towards  those  of  us  who  were  nearest  to  him. 
In  harsh,  threatening  voice  he  demanded  to  know  what 
right  we  had  to  intrude  on  his  privacy. 

There  was  a  general  scattering  of  the  scared  party 
before  this  unlooked-for  attack,  and  the  soldier  gave 
it  as  his  opinion  that  the  medium  was  now  controlled 
by  the  spirit  of  a  very  violent  male  entity.  I  had  no 
doubt  upon  the  point. 

Then  commenced  so  very  unpleasant  a  scene  that 
I  had  no  doubt  also  of  the  medium's  genuineness.  No 
charlatan,  dependent  upon  fraudulent  mediumship  for 
her  daily  bread,  would  have  made  herself  so  in- 
tensely obnoxious  as  did  this  frail  little  woman.  I 
found  myself  saying,  "Never  again.  This  isn't  good 
enough." 

The  entity  that  controlled  her  possessed  superhu- 
man strength.  His  voice  was  like  the  bellow  of  a  bull, 
as  he  told  us  to  be  gone,  or  he  would  throw  us  out 
himself,  and  his  language  was  shocking. 

I  had  warned  the  medium  on  entering  the  house 
that  we  must  be  as  quiet  as  possible,  or  we  would  have 
the  police  walking  in  on  us.  Now  I  expected  any 
moment  to  see  a  policeman,  or  some  male  stranger 
arrive  on  the  scene,  and  demand  to  know  what  was 
the  matter. 

The  majority  of  our  party  were  keeping  at  a  safe 
distance,  but  suddenly  the  control  rushed  full  tilt  at 
the  soldier,  who  had  stood  his  ground,  and  attacking 
him  with  a  tigerish  fury  drew  blood  at  once.  The  big 
builder  and  I  rushed  forward  to  his  aid.  The  rest  of 
the  party  forsook  us  and  fled,  pell-mell,  out  of  the  house 
and  into  the  garden.  Glancing  through  a  window, 


266  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

near  which  we  fought,  I  saw  below  a  row  of  scared 
faces  staring  up  in  awed  wonder. 

The  scene  being  enacted  was  really  amazing.  This 
frail  little  creature  threw  us  off  like  feathers,  and 
drove  us  foot  by  foot  before  her,  always  heading  us 
off  the  bathroom.  We  tried  to  stand  our  ground,  and 
dodge  her  furious  lunges,  but  she  was  too  much  for  us. 
After  a  desperate  scuffle,  which  lasted  quite  seven  or 
eight  minutes,  and  resulted  in  much  torn  clothing, 
she  drove  us  out  of  the  room  and  on  to  the  landing. 
Then  suddenly,  without  warning,  the  entity  seemed  to 
evacuate  the  body  he  had  controlled,  and  the  medium 
went  down  with  a  crash  and  lay  at  our  feet,  just  a 
little  crumpled  disheveled  heap. 

For  some  considerable  time  I  thought  that  she  was 
dead.  Her  lips  were  blue,  and  I  could  feel  no  pulse. 
We  had  neither  water  nor  brandy  with  which  to  revive 
her,  and  we  decided  to  carry  her  down  into  the  gar- 
den and  see  what  fresh  air  would  do.  Though  villas 
stood  all  round  us,  the  foliage  of  the  trees  gave  us 
absolute  privacy,  and  we  laid  her  flat  on  the  lawn. 
There,  after  about  ten  minutes,  she  gradually  regained 
her  consciousness,  and  seemingly  none  the  worse  for 
her  experiences  she  sat  up  and  asked  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

We  did  not  give  her  the  truth  in  its  entirety,  and 
contrived  to  account  for  the  blood-stained  soldier  and 
the  torn  clothing,  without  unduly  shocking  and  dis- 
tressing her.  We  then  dispersed;  the  medium  walk- 
ing off  as  if  nothing  whatever  had  occurred  to  deplete 
her  strength. 

Some  days  after  this  the  soldier  begged  for  another 
experiment  with  the  medium.  He  had  no  doubts  as 
to  her  genuineness,  and  he  was  sure  that  if  we  tried 


THE  SEQUEL  267 

again  we  would  get  further  developments.  She  was 
willing  to  try  again,  and  so  was  the  builder,  but  with 
one  exception  the  rest  of  the  party  refused  to  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  the  unpleasant  affair,  and 
the  one  exception  stipulated  to  remain  in  the  garden. 
She  very  wisely  remarked  that  if  she  came  into  the 
house  there  was  no  knowing  what  entity  might  not 
attach  itself  to  her,  and  return  home  with  her,  and  she 
was  not  going  to  risk  it.  Of  course  this  real  clanger 
always  had  to  be  counted  upon  in  such  investigations, 
but  as  the  men  of  the  party  desired  a  woman  to  accom- 
pany the  medium,  I  consented,  and  we  entered  the 
house  once  more,  a  reduced  party  of  four. 

After  the  medium  had  remained  entranced  for  some 
minutes,  the  same  male  entity  again  controlled  her. 
The  same  violence,  the  same  attacks  began  once  more, 
but  this  time  we  were  better  prepared  to  defend  our- 
selves. The  soldier  and  the  stalwart  builder  warded 
off  the  attacks,  and  tried  conciliatory  expostulations, 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  Then  the  soldier,  who  seemed 
to  have  considerable  experience  in  such  matters,  tried 
a  system  of  exorcising,  sternly  bidding  the  malignant 
entity  depart.  There  ensued  a  very  curious  spiritual 
conflict  between  the  exorcist  and  the  entity,  in  which 
sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  one,  then  the  other,  was 
about  to  triumph. 

Those  wavering  moments  were  useful  in  giving  us 
breathing  space  from  the  assaults,  and  at  length  hav- 
ing failed,  as  we  desired,  to  get  into  the  bathroom, 
we  drove  him  back  against  the  wall  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room.  Finally  the  exorcist  triumphed,  and  the 
medium  collapsed  on  the  floor,  as  the  strength  of  the 
control  left  her. 

For  a  few  moments  we  allowed  the  crumpled  up 


268  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

little  heap  to  remain  where  she  lay,  whilst  we  mopped 
our  brows  and  regained  our  breath.  The  soldier  had 
brought  a  flask  of  brandy  which  we  proposed  to  ad- 
minister to  the  unconscious  medium,  but  quite  sud- 
denly a  new  development  began. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  still  crouching  on  the  floor 
with  closed  eyes  she  began  to  cry  bitterly.  Wailing, 
and  moaning,  and  uttering  inarticulate  words,  she  had 
become  the  picture  of  absolute  woe. 

"  Another  entity  has  got  hold  of  her,"  announced 
the  soldier.  It  certainly  appeared  to  be  so. 

All  signs  of  violence  had  gone.  The  medium  had 
become  a  heart-broken  woman. 

We  raised  her  to  her  feet,  her  condition  was  pitiable, 
but  her  words  became  more  coherent. 

"  Poor  master !  On  the  bed.  Help  him !  Help 
him !  "  she  moaned,  and  pointed  to  one  side  of  the 
room.  Again  and  again  she  indicated,  by  clenching 
her  hands  on  her  throat,  that  death  by  strangulation 
was  the  culmination  of  some  terrible  tragedy  that  had 
been  enacted  in  that  room. 

She  wandered,  in  a  desolate  manner,  about  the  floor, 
wringing  her  hands,  the  tears  pouring  down  her  cheeks, 
whilst  she  pointed  to  the  bed,  then  towards  the  bath- 
room with  shuddering  horror. 

Suddenly  we  were  startled  out  of  our  compassionate 
sympathy  by  a  piercing  scream,  and  my  thoughts  flew 
instantly  to  the  experiences  of  the  former  tenants,  and 
what  I  myself  had  heard  in  passing  on  that  June  morn- 
ing of  the  former  year.  * 

The  medium  had  turned  at  bay,  and  began  a  frantic 
encounter  with  some  entity  unseen  by  us.  Wildly  she 
wrestled  and  fought,  as  if  for  her  life,  whilst  she 
emitted  piercing  shrieks  for  "  help."  We  rushed  to 


THE  SEQUEL  269 

the  rescue,  dragging  her  away  from  her  invisible  as- 
sailant, but  a  disembodied  fighter  has  a  considerable 
pull  over  a  fighter  in  the  flesh,  who  possesses  some- 
thing tangible  that  can  be  seized.  I  placed  the  me- 
dium behind  me,  with  her  back  to  the  wall,  but  though 
I  pressed  her  close  she  continued  to  fight,  and  I  had 
to  defend  myself  as  well  as  defend  her.  Her  as- 
sailant was  undoubtedly  the  first  terrible  entity  which 
had  controlled  her.  At  intervals  she  gasped  out,  "  Ter- 
rible doctor  —  will  kill  me  —  he's  killed  master  — help ! 
help!" 

Gradually  she  ceased  to  fight.  The  soldier  was  ex- 
orcising with  all  his  force,  and  was  gaining  power; 
finally  he  triumphed,  inasmuch  as  he  banished  the  "  ter- 
rible doctor." 

The  medium  was,  however,  still  under  the  control 
of  the  broken-hearted  entity,  and  began  again  to  wan- 
der about  the  room.  We  extracted  from  her  further 
details.  An  approximate  date  of  the  tragedy.  Her 
master's  name,  that  he  was  mentally  deficient  when 
the  murder  took  place.  She  was  a  maidservant  in  the 
house,  and  after  witnessing  the  crime  she  appeared 
to  have  shared  her  master's  fate,  though  by  what  means 
we  could  not  determine.  The  doctor  was  a  resident 
physician  of  foreign  origin. 

At  last  we  induced  her  to  enter  the  bathroom, 
which  she  seemed  to  dread,  and  there  she  fell  to  la- 
menting over  the  dead  body  of  her  master,  which  had 
lain  hidden  there  when  the  room  was  used  as  a  large 
cupboard.  It  was  a  very  painful  scene,  which  was 
ended  abruptly  by  her  falling  down  insensible. 

She  had  collapsed  in  an  awkward  corner,  but  at 
last  we  lifted  her  out,  and  carried  her  downstairs  to 
the  garden.  When  I  tried  to  revive  her  with  brandy 


270  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

I  found  that  her  teeth  were  tightly  clenched.  I  then 
tried  artificial  respiration,  as  I  could  feel  no  pulse. 
Gradually  she  came  back  to  life,  quietly,  calmly,  and 
in  total  ignorance  of  what  had  occurred.  The  most 
amazing  thing  was  that  she  showed  no  signs  whatever 
of  exhaustion  or  mental  fatigue.  We  were  all  dead 
beat,  but  not  so  the  fragile-looking  little  medium, 
though  externally  she  looked  terribly  disheveled  and 
draggled. 

This  was  the  last  time  I  set  foot  in  the  haunted 
house,  which  is  now  being  demolished,  but  I  still  had 
to  experience  more  of  its  odd  phenomena. 

The  date  and  names  the  medium  had  given  us  were 
later  on  verified  by  means  of  a  record  of  villa  resi- 
dents, which  for  many  years  had  been  kept  in  the  town 
of  Torquay. 

There  is  no  one  left  now  who  has  any  interest  in 
verifying  a  tragic  story  supposed  to  have  been  enacted 
about  fifty  years  ago.  It  must  be  left  in  the  realms 
of  psychic  research,  by  which  means  it  was  dragged 
to  light.  Certain  it  is  that  no  such  murder  came  to 
the  knowledge  of  those  who  were  alive  then,  and  live 
still  in  Torquay. 

If  there  is  any  truth  in  the  story  it  falls  under  the 
category  of  undiscovered  crimes.  The  murderer  was 
able  somehow  to  hide  his  iniquities,  and  escape  sus- 
picion and  punishment.  I  do  not  know  if  it  is  intended 
to  build  another  house  on  the  same  site.  I  hope  not, 
for  it  is  very  probable  that  a  new  residence  would 
share  the  fate  of  the  old.  Bricks  and  mortar  are  no 
impediment  to  the  free  passage  of  the  disembodied, 
and  there  is  no  reason  why  they  should  not  elect  to 
manifest  for  an  indefinite  period  of  time. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  scream  was  an  actual 


THE  SEQUEL  271 

fact.  There  are  so  many  people  living  who  heard  it, 
and  are  willing  to  testify  to  the  horror  of  it.  Amongst 
those  living  people  are  former  tenants,  who  for  long 
bore  the  nervous  strain  of  its  constant  recurrence. 

There  remains  one  other  weird  incident  in  connec- 
tion with  "  Castel  a  Mare  "  which  I  will  now  try  to 
describe. 

In  the  winter  of  1917  I  was  engaged  in  war  work 
which  took  me  out  at  night.  Like  every  other  coast 
town  Torquay  was  plunged  at  sunset  into  deepest 
darkness,  save  when  the  moon  defied  the  authorities. 
The  road  leading  from  the  nearest  tramcar  to  our 
house  was  not  lit  at  all,  and  one  had  to  stumble  along 
as  best  one  could,  even  electric  torches  being  forbidden. 

I  was  returning  home  one  very  dark,  still  night 
about  a  quarter  past  ten,  and  being  very  tired  I  was 
walking  very  slowly.  Owing  to  the  inky  darkness  I 
thought  it  best  to  walk  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  inequalities  in  the  footpath  at  each 
garden  entrance  to  the  villas.  At  that  hour  there  was 
no  traffic,  and  not  a  soul  about. 

Suddenly  my  steps  were  arrested  by  a  loud  knock- 
ing on  a  window-pane,  and  I  collected  my  thoughts 
and  tried  to  take  my  bearings.  The  sound  came  from 
the  left,  where  two  or  three  villas  stand  close  to  the 
road.  All  I  could  distinguish  was  a  denser  blot  of 
black  against  the  dense  surroundings,  but  by  making 
certain  calculations  I  recognized  that  I  stood  outside 
"  Castel  a  Mare."  The  knocking  on  the  pane  lasted 
only  a  moment  or  two,  and  was  insistent  and  peremp- 
tory. I  jumped  to  the  instant  conclusion  that  some 
one  was  having  "  a  lark  "  inside,  and  was  trying  to 
"  get  a  rise "  out  of  me.  I  was  too  tired  to  be 
bothered,  and  moved  on  again  with  a  strong  inclina- 


272  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

tion  towards  my  own  warm  bed,  when  the  knocking 
rang  out  more  peremptory  than  ever.  It  seemed  to 
say  "  Stop !  don't  go  on.  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you."  Involuntarily  I  stood  still  again,  and  wished 
that  some  human  being  would  pass  along  the  road.  I 
really  would  not  have  cared  who  it  was,  policeman, 
soldier,  maidservant.  I  would  have  laid  hold  of  them 
and  said,  "Do  you  hear  that  knocking?  It  comes 
from  the  haunted  house." 

Alas !  no  one  did  come.  The  night  lay  like  an  inky 
pall  all  about  me,  silent  as  the  grave,  save  for  that 
commanding  order  to  stop  which  was  rapped  upon  a 
window-pane  whenever  I  attempted  to  move  on. 

Though  the  being  who  thus  sought  to  detain  me 
could  not  possibly  distinguish  who  I  was,  or  whether 
my  gender  was  male  or  female,  he  could  certainly  hear 
my  footsteps  as  I  walked,  and  the  cool  inconsequence 
of  his  behavior  began  to  nettle  me.  I  was  about  to 
move  resolutely  on  when  I  heard  something  else.  This 
time  something  really  thrilling! 

Peal  after  peal  of  light  laughter,  accompanied  by 
flying  feet.  But  such  laughter!  Thin,  high  treble 
laughter,  right  away  up  and  out  of  the  scale,  and  ap- 
parently proceeding  from  many  persons.  Such  flying 
feet!  racing,  pattering,  rushing  feet,  light  as  those  of 
the  trained  athlete.  I  stood  enthralled  with  wonder, 
for  in  the  pitch-black  darkness  of  that  house  surely 
no  human  feet  could  avoid  disaster.  They  were  rush- 
ing up  and  down  that  steep,  bare  wooden  staircase 
that  I  knew  so  well,  and  the  laughter  and  the  swift- 
winged  feet  sounded  now  from  the  ground  floor,  then 
could  be  clearly  traced  ascending,  till  they  reached  the 
third  and  last  floor.  Tearing  along  the  empty  cor- 


THE  SEQUEL  273 

ridors,  they  began  the  breakneck  descent  again  to  the 
bottom,  a  pell-mell,  wild  rush  of  demented  demons 
chasing  each  other.  That  is  what  it  sounded  like. 

I  must  have  stood  there  for  quite  ten  minutes,  long- 
ing intensely  for  some  one  to  share  in  my  experiences, 
but  Torquay  had  gone  to  bed,  and  I  felt  it  was  time 
for  me  to  do  likewise. 

What  could  I  make  of  the  affair  ?  Nothing !  Rats  ? 
Rats  don't  laugh.  Human  beings  having  a  rag  and 
trying  to  scare  the  neighborhood?  No  human  being 
could  have  run  up  and  down  that  staircase  in  such 
profound  darkness.  It  would  have  been  a  case  of 
crawling  up  with  a  firm  hand  on  the  banister  rail. 

I  gave  up  trying  to  think  and  turned  resolutely 
away.  As  I  did  so  the  knocking  began  again  upon 
the  window-pane. 

"  Do  stop ;  oh !  don't  go  away.  Stop !  stop !  "  it 
seemed  to  call  after  me  insistently  as  I  quickened  my 
footsteps  and  gradually  outdistanced  the  imperious  de- 
mand. 

What  explanation  have  I  to  offer?  None!  The 
hallucinations  of  a  tired  woman?  That  may  do  for 
the  general  public,  but  not  for  me.  You  see,  I  was  the 
person  who  heard  it. 

There  are  many  haunted  houses  that  are  quite  habit- 
able, such  as  Hampton  Court  Palace,  etc.  Where  the 
apparition  keeps  strictly  to  an  anniversary,  or  where 
the  phenomena  are  mild  and  inoffensive,  their  pres- 
ence can  be  endured  with  a  certain  amount  of  equa- 
nimity. The  point  really  lies  in  this.  Are  the  ghosts 
who  haunt  a  dwelling  indifferent  to,  or  hostile  to,  the 
presence  of  their  companions  in  the  flesh?  If  the 
situation  is  according  to  the  latter,  then  the  ghosts  will 


274  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

certainly  score.  They  will  rid  themselves  of  the  hu- 
man inhabitants  by  a  wearing-down  nerve  pressure, 
which  cannot  be  fought  against  with  any  chance  of 
success.  If  the  ghosts  are  shy  or  indifferent,  wrapped 
up  in  their  own  concerns  and  containing  themselves 
in  a  world  of  their  own,  then  there  is  no  reason  why 
the  incarnate  and  discarnate  should  not  live  peacefully 
together. 

To-day,  February  27th,  1919,  I  read  the  following 
in  the  Morning  Post :  — 

"  Haunted  or  disturbed  properties.  A  lady  who  has 
deeply  studied  this  subject  and  possesses  unusual 
powers  will  find  out  the  history  of  the  trouble  and 
undertake  to  remedy  it.  Houses  with  persistent  bad 
luck  can  often  be  freed  from  the  influence.  Strictest 
confidence.  Social  references  asked  and  offered." 

What  would  our  grandparents  have  thought  of  this 
means  of  turning  an  honest  penny?  I  have  no  doubt 
the  lady  "  possessing  the  unusual  powers  "  will  be  em- 
ployed, and  in  many  cases  she  will  be  successful.  In 
the  majority  of  cases  I  venture  to  say  that  she  will 
fail,  simply  because  the  majority  of  cases  are  too  elu- 
sive to  be  dealt  with  by  human  means.  How  would 
this  lady  treat  the  "  Castel  a  Mare  "  scream  ?  How 
would  she  deal  with  the  next  story  I  am  going 
to  relate? 

It  is  a  simple  matter  to  compile  a  book  of  thrilling 
ghost  stories  if  direct  evidence  is  not  given,  if  names 
of  persons  and  places  are  suppressed. 

I  claim  that  my  stories  have  a  'special  interest  and 
value,  because  I  have  tried  to  restrict  them  to  such  as 
can  be  attested  to  by  living  persons,  closely  related  to 
me  either  by  friendship  or  by  family  ties.  In  a  very 
few  instances  I  have  been  obliged  for  obvious  reasons 


THE  SEQUEL  27$ 

to  suppress  the  names  of  houses  and  hotels.  In  these 
cases  I  am  ready  personally  to  supply  full  information 
to  genuine  students  of  the  occult,  if  they  are  willing  to 
approach  me  privately. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    HAUNTED   LODGE 

A  CONSIDERABLE    number    of    people    are 
alive  who  can  testify  to  the  truth  of  the 
facts  I  now  narrate.     I  regret  that  I  have 
not  been  able  to  investigate  this  case  personally,  but 
I  hope  to  do  so  before  very  long. 

In  the  spring  of  1901,  my  sister  and  her  husband, 
Major  Stewart,  rented  an  old  shooting  lodge  in  Argyll- 
shire. The  place  was  charmingly  situated,  the  shoot- 
ing and  fishing  excellent,  and  the  scenery  around  was 
noted  for  its  romantic  beauty. 

Though  the  main  portion  of  the  house  was  old,  a 
new  wing  had  been  added  for  the  sleeping  accommoda- 
tion of  servants,  and  this  arrangement  shut  them  off 
at  night  from  the  ancient  part  of  the  dwelling.  The 
original  kitchen  still  remained  in  use. 

The  servants  had  been  sent  on  in  advance  to  pre- 
pare the  lodge,  and  when  Major  and  Mrs.  Stewart 
arrived  they  were  at  once  confronted  with  the  informa- 
tion that  the  place  bore  a  very  evil  reputation.  The 
villagers  had  not  hesitated  to  prime  the  maids  with 
all  sorts  of  creepy  stories,  eminently  calculated  to 
cause  their  precipitate  departure.  Luckily  for  the 
master  and  mistress  the  maids  had  been  with  them 
for  some  years,  and  were  neither  of  a  timid  age  nor 
disposition,  so  the  household  settled  comfortably  down, 
in  those  long  spring  and  summer  days,  which  in  the 
north  means  practically  no  darkness. 

276 


THE  HAUNTED  LODGE  277 

My  sister  had  banished  the  alleged  hauntings  from 
her  mind,  and  probably  the  maids  had  done  likewise, 
for  all  was  going  quietly  and  well,  when  suddenly,  after 
a  week's  residence,  there  came  a  rude  reminder. 

Major  and  Mrs.  Stewart  were  both  awakened  one 
night  by  unmistakable  sounds  of  very  noisy  burglars, 
who  appeared  to  have  broken  into  the  house  through 
the  kitchen  quarters.  The  major  lit  a  candle,  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  just  on  midnight.  What 
puzzled  them  both  was  the  noise  the  intruders  made. 
Burglars  naturally  tread  softly  and  stealthily,  but 
these  men  stamped  about  in  heavy  boots,  and  were 
engaged  in  throwing  about  heavy  articles.  There 
seemed  to  be  quite  a  number  of  accomplices  involved 
in  the  enterprise,  and  they  displayed  an  amazing  in- 
difference to  detection. 

My  sister  and  her  husband  decided  that  events  could 
not  be  left  to  take  their  course.  This  matter  must  be 
looked  into.  The  major  armed  himself  with  a  loaded 
revolver.  My  sister  armed  herself  with  a  lighted  can- 
dle and  a  box  of  matches,  and  together  they  crept 
softly  downstairs  on  their  way  to  the  kitchen. 

All  this  time  the  noises  continued.  Stamping  of 
heavy  feet,  crashing  down  of  heavy  weights,  but  on 
the  way  downstairs  a  first  glimmering  that  the  super- 
natural came  into  this  affair  began  to  dawn  upon  my 
sister.  She  became  aware  that  an  invisible  presence 
was  following  them. 

The  noises  continued  as  they  cautiously  and  silently 
crept  towards  the  kitchen.  As  they  reached  the  door, 
suddenly  utter  silence  fell.  Inside  nothing  was  dis- 
arranged. There  were  no  signs  of  burglars,  every- 
thing was  as  usual. 

Considerably  mystified  Major  and  Mrs.  Stewart  re- 


278  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

turned  to  bed,  and  were  not  disturbed  again  that  night. 

The  next  day,  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
the  same  sounds  began  again.  This  time  the  noise 
was  easily  located  in  one  of  the  unused  bedrooms  on 
the  top  floor  of  the  house.  Heavily  shod  men  were 
tramping  about  the  floor  overhead,  throwing  down 
heavy  boxes  and  making  a  considerable  disturbance. 

Major  and  Mrs.  Stewart  ascended  on  tiptoe,  and 
when  outside  the  closed  door  listened  intently.  There 
was  no  mistake  this  time.  Nothing  could  sound  more 
human  than  the  activity  going  on  inside  that  room. 
Half  a  dozen  men  at  least  were  in  possession  of  it,  and 
those  men  had  to  be  confronted.  Luckily  they  had 
no  means  of  escape.  This  time  they  really  would  be 
caught. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  silent  listening  the  major, 
whose  hand  was  on  the  knob,  threw  open  the  door 
and  bounded  into  the  room. 

Instant  silence  —  nothing  —  not  even  the  whisk  of 
a  defiant  rat's  tail! 

The  husband  and  wife  sat  down  and  stared  at  one 
another  in  utter  bewilderment.  The  bright  spring 
daylight  seemed  to  mock  them  as  it  flooded  every  chink 
and  cranny. 

Shortly  after  this  occurrence  three  guests  came  to 
stay,  two  women  and  a  man.  They  were  given  bed- 
rooms on  the  top  floor,  but  the  room  whence  the 
disturbance  had  come  was  left  severely  alone.  The 
household,  with  one  accord,  welcomed  their  advent  as 
a  pleasant  distraction,  and  it  was  unanimously  agreed 
that  they  should  be  kept  in  absolute  ignorance  of  what 
had  taken  place. 

The  next  morning  the  three  guests  all  had  the  same 
story  to  tell,  of  having  had  no  sleep.  Heavily  booted 


THE  HAUNTED  LODGE  279 

men  kept  passing  their  doors,  and  heavy  articles  were 
flung  about  in  adjacent  rooms.  They  had  spent  a 
night  of  terror.  No  one  had  possessed  sufficient 
courage  to  look  out  into  the  corridor,  along  which  the 
men  were  passing,  and  they  had  kept  lights  burning 
in  their  rooms  till  full  daybreak.  They  refused  to 
sleep  again  upon  that  floor. 

My  sister  moved  them  down  to  the  second  floor,  on 
which  she  herself  slept,  and  a  thorough  investigation 
of  the  house,  outside  and  inside,  was  made.  No  con- 
clusion was  come  to. 

The  noises  continued  on  the  following  night,  but 
being  overhead,  and  more  distant,  they  were  more 
endurable. 

A  second  male  guest  now  arrived,  and  the  assembled 
household  waited  in  breathless  interest  to  see  how  the 
ghosts  would  affect  him.  Nothing  whatever  was  told 
to  him,  and  he  was  lodged  in  a  bedroom  immediately 
underneath  the  noisy  one. 

The  next  morning,  after  all  had  passed  a  disturbed 
night,  it  was  found  that  some  of  the  noises  had  pro- 
ceeded from  the  new  guest.  He  had  carried  some  of 
his  blankets  out  into  the  garden  and  had  slept  there. 
He  remained  on,  but  refused  to  sleep  in  the  house, 
and  a  tent  was  rigged  up  for  him  outside.  He  stated 
that  the  disturbances  were  too  much  for  his  nerves, 
though  he  had  no  idea  what  they  were.  His  behavior, 
on  the  first  night,  in  retiring  to  the  garden,  was  meant 
as  a  strong  protest  against  such  treatment  of  a  tired 
guest.  His  temper  had  got  the  upper  hand  of  him, 
after  fruitless  efforts  to  sleep,  and,  finally,  he  had 
tramped  downstairs  with  an  armful  of  blankets,  antici- 
pating many  apologies  next  morning  from  host  and 
hostess,  and  a  peaceful  night  to  follow. 


280  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

The  following  day  a  new  maid  arrived.  She  slept 
in  the  old  part  of  the  house,  and  shortly  afterwards 
asked  my  sister  if  the  house  was  haunted,  as  she  had 
been  kept  awake  by  "  heavy  people  running  past  her 
door  with  naked  feet." 

By  this  time  it  was  only  the  influence  of  the  staid 
old  servants  which  prevented  the  younger  ones  from 
taking  flight.  My  sister  and  her  husband  were  not 
alarmed,  they  were  profoundly  interested. 

The  summer  passed  on,  and  there  were  days  and 
weeks  when  nothing  was  heard,  then  quite  suddenly 
the  disturbances  would  begin  again.  As  the  noises 
sounded  so  very  human  it  was  extremely  difficult  to 
believe  that  they  really  did  not  proceed  from  incarnate 
beings,  and  my  sister  told  me  that  time  after  time,  as 
she  listened,  she  would  say  to  herself,  "  Now,  beyond 
a  shadow  of  doubt  there  are  men  in  that  room."  She 
would  creep  upstairs,  listen  for  some  time  with  her 
hand  on  the  door-knob  —  then  suddenly  throw  it  open 
—  to  find  nothing.  She  never  wearied  of  trying  to 
surprise  those  invisible  men. 

At  times  when  her  husband  was  away  from  home, 
she  would  spend  the  entire  night  in  an  obstinate  attempt 
to, solve  the  mystery.  When  she  had  no  guests,  and 
the  servants  were  asleep  in  their  new  wing,  she  would 
awake  to  the  noise.  Taking  her  candle  she  would 
mount  on  bare,  silent  feet  to  the  floor  above,  and  listen 
at  the  door,  often  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time.  She  had 
no  fear,  but  intense  curiosity.  It  was  easy  to  trace 
what  was  going  on  in  the  room.  Men  were  packing, 
moving  heavy  boxes,  throwing  down  heavy  articles, 
walking  about  the  floor  with  ponderous  tread.  First 
they  would  be  at  one  end  of  the  room,  then  move  on 
to  the  other.  Sometimes  they  approached  so  near  the 


THE  HAUNTED  LODGE  281 

door  behind  which  she  stood,  that  she  expected  to  see 
it  open,  and  to  be  confronted  by  several  burly  ruffians. 
She  would  rush  suddenly  in,  candle  in  hand,  only  to  be 
received  in  sudden,  utter  silence.  Not  even  the  scurry 
of  a  scared  mouse.  After  half  an  hour  of  patient  wait- 
ing within  the  room,  she  would  leave  it,  close  the  door, 
and  sit  down  on  the  staircase.  In  a  few  moments  the 
disturbance  was  again  in  full  swing. 

Were  I  writing  an  account  of  these  hauntings  for 
the  Psychical  Society  I  should  go  into  the  most  minute 
details ;  suffice  it  here  to  say,  that  during  all  this  time 
every  sort  of  investigation  had  been  carried  out  by 
practical  men  and  women,  who  had  personally  heard 
the  disturbances,  and  who  were  keenly  interested  in 
the  phenomena. 

Rats  were,  of  course,  the  first  natural  suggestion, 
but  no  one  put  forth  this  theory  after  having  once, 
with  their  own  ears,  heard  the  disturbances.  No  one 
could  advance  any  rational  conclusion.  The  whole 
affair  was  baffling  in  the  extreme. 

It  would  have  been  simple  enough  to  leave  the  place 
and  forfeit  the  rent,  but  my  sister  and  her  husband 
loved  the  sport  and  the  beauty  of  the  surroundings, 
and  were  determined  to  remain,  unless  anything  worse 
developed.  No  one  ever  saw  anything  unpleasant,  or 
even  suggestive  of  the  supernatural,  and  the  whole 
household  had  become  more  or  less  indifferent  to  the 
noises.  They  brought  no  harm  to  anybody,  and  might 
be  safely  ignored. 

Mrs.  Stewart  had  four  Pomeranian  dogs  which  did 
not  produce  a  calming  effect  upon  their  human  com- 
panions. They  were  constantly  seeing  things,  brist- 
ling and  showing  every  sign  of  terror.  Into  the  noisy 
room  they  refused  to  go,  and  they  objected  to  being  left 


282  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

a  moment  alone.     They  slept  in  my  sister's  bedroom. 

One  night  she  was  alone  in  the  old  house.  Major 
Stewart  had  gone  on  business  to  Edinburgh,  and  the 
servants  had  retired  to  bed  in  their  own  wing.  Mrs. 
Stewart  was  sitting  in  the  smoking-room,  reading  an 
interesting  novel  by  the  light  of  a  lamp.  A  good  fire 
burned,  and  the  four  Poms  were  asleep  on  the  hearth- 
rug. The  door  was  slightly  ajar,  and  outside  it  ran 
a  short  corridor. 

Suddenly,  at  its  far  end  a  terrible  noise  arose.  A 
very  different  noise  to  anything  that  had  been  heard 
before,  and  one  so  blood-curdling  that  Mrs.  Stewart 
at  last  knew  the  meaning  of  mortal  fear. 

Two  men  were  fighting  desperately,  swaying  and 
wrestling,  and  snarling  fiercely  like  two  tigers  locked 
in  deathly  combat.  She  glanced  at  the  dogs.  They 
were  sitting  up,  staring  with  terrified  eyes  at  the  door, 
their  bodies  quivering,  their  little  fangs  showing. 
Then  —  with  a  bound  —  they  were  off,  tearing  for 
dear  life  along  the  corridor  towards  the  stairs. 

It  was  a  situation  that  demanded  considerable  nerve. 
Impossible  to  sit  there  alone  in  the  dead  of  night, 
and  listen  to  that  hideous  din,  but  a  few  yards  from 
the  door.  She  must  follow  the  dogs  as  swiftly  as  she 
dared. 

She  took  up  the  lamp  and  moved  stealthily  to  the 
door.  The  corridor  was  in  complete  darkness,  and  in 
that  darkness  the  two  men  fought  desperately,  and 
below  their  breath  they  raved,  groaned,  blasphemed, 
incoherently.  One  long  drawn  out  babel  of  breath- 
less discord. 

In  an  overwhelming  rush  of  terror  Mrs.  Stewart 
made  a  dash  for  the  stairs,  but  while  still  in  the  cor- 
ridor she  heard  flying  feet  approaching  her  from  the 


THE  HAUNTED  LODGE  283 

end  she  was  trying  to  reach.  She  shrank  back  against 
the  wall,  the  flying  feet  passed  in  a  wild  tempestuous 
rush,  and  as  they  did  so  the  lamp  was  struck  violently 
out  of  her  hand,  and  she  was  left  in  complete  darkness. 

She  reached  her  bedroom  and  locked  the  door,  then 
she  lighted  the  candles  and  looked  for  the  dogs.  She 
found  them  huddled  together  in  abject  terror  under 
her  bed. 

The  next  day  my  sister  called  upon  the  lady  who 
owned  the  place,  and  recounting  her  experiences  asked 
to  be  told  the  origin  of  the  hauntings.  She  was  told 
the  following  story :  — 

Many  years  previously  a  farmer,  who  was  a 
widower,  lived  in  the  lodge  with  an  only  son,  who 
was  grown  up.  The  old  farmer  married  again,  a 
pretty  young  girl,  and  the  son  fell  in  love  with  his 
stepmother.  A  quarrel  ensued,  and  a  desperate  con- 
flict, in  which  the  father  stabbed  his  son  to  death. 

The  Stewarts  did  not  leave  the  haunted  lodge  till 
some  long  time  after  the  events  I  have  narrated;  in 
fact,  my  sister  inhabited  it  after  her  husband  died, 
during  a  stay  in  the  South  of  England. 

It  is  difficult  to  form  any  conjecture  as  to  the  actual 
cause  of  the  disturbances.  How  do  ghosts  contrive 
to  make  such  a  noise  ?  The  common  answer  would  be, 
"  They  were  astral  noises  heard  clairaudiently."  But 
was  every  one  in  the  house  clairaudient?  It  is  pos- 
sible, but  most  unlikely.  When  the  noises  began  every 
one  under  that  roof  heard  them,  and  continued  to  hear 
them  till  they  ceased. 

The  lodge  is  still  to  let,  so  perhaps  the  mystery  may 
yet  be  unraveled.  Will  a  member  of  the  Psychical 
Society  not  try  his  luck?  The  rent  is  low,  the  sport, 
of  more  than  one  kind,  is  excellent. 


284  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

In  the  course  of  time  my  widowed  sister  married 
again,  and  her  second  husband  has  given  me  a  curious 
and  gruesome  story  of  an  experience  which  came  to 
him  whilst  he  was  still  a  bachelor.  I  will  give  it  in 
his  own  words :  — 

"  About  fourteen  years  ago  I  retired  from  the  Lon- 
don Stock  Exchange,  and  owing  to  ill  health  I  was 
advised  by  my  doctor  to  take  a  long  sea  voyage.  This 
advice  I  followed,  and  much  benefited  by  rest  and  sea 
air  I  returned  to  London,  after  an  absence  of  nine 
months. 

"  Always  having  lived  an  active  life  I  could  not 
contemplate  settling  down  in  utter  idleness,  and  I 
consulted  my  solicitor  on  the  subject  of  work. 

"  He  told  me  that  a  client  of  his  had  just  bought  a 
flourishing  and  well-known  mill  in  North  Wales.  He 
proposed  to  run  it  for  a  time  alone,  and  then  turn  it 
into  a  company  or  syndicate,  as  he  had  not  sufficient 
capital  of  his  own  to  ensure  its  ultimate  success.  In 
due  time,  my  solicitor  gave  me  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  this  man,  and  I  went  to  stay  at  his  house  close  to  the 
mill,  which  he  had  just  bought. 

"  It  was  a  rambling  old  place,  which  in  the  good 
old  days  had  been  a  coaching  inn.  Owing  to  bad 
management  the  landlord  had  failed,  and  for  many 
years  it  had  stood  empty  and  '  to  let.'  It  was  a  queer 
idea,  I  thought,  to  turn  a  coaching  inn  into  a  private 
residence,  more  especially  as  I  soon  heard  that  it  had 
a  very  evil  reputation. 

"  Though  I  made  many  inquiries  in  the  neighbor- 
hood I  could  never  get  anything  more  definite  than 
that  there  was  some  evil  influence  in  the  house. 
Every  one  who  lived  in  it  came  to  a  bad  or  violent 
end.  I  concluded  that  its  proximity  to  his  work 


THE  HAUNTED  LODGE  285 

caused  the  mill  owner  to  purchase  it,  and  I  thought 
no  more  of  the  matter. 

"  If  I  was  favorably  impressed,  my  intention  was 
to  put  a  certain  amount  of  capital  into  the  concern  and 
learn  the  trade,  but  after  staying  for  a  few  days  with 
the  mill  owner,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  so  odd  a  person. 

"  He  was  of  medium  height  and  very  thin,  with 
rather  straggling  hair  turning  gray,  and  a  sallow,  hol- 
low-cheeked face.  He  had  a  curious  habit  of  glanc- 
ing suddenly  behind  him,  as  if  some  one  had  just 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  several  other  little 
traits  bespoke  an  extreme  nervousness  of  disposi- 
tion. 

"  One  night  I  entered  a  room  where  he  happened 
to  be,  and  discovered  him  staring  at  himself  in  a  mir- 
ror. I  suppose  I  exhibited  some  surprise,  for  he 
wheeled  round  on  me  and  cried,  '  Well !  how  do  you 
think  I  am  looking  ?  ' 

"  Had  I  answered  truthfully  I  should  have  said, 
'  Stark,  staring  mad.'  His  face  was  ghastly  pale,  and 
his  eyes  were  blazing.  I  made  some  careless  reply, 
and  shortly  afterwards  left  the  house  to  play  a  game 
of  billiards  with  some  acquaintances  I  had  made. 
There  I  was  given  some  interesting  information.  The 
mill  owner  was  a  declared  bankrupt. 

"  I  returned  to  the  house  at  ten  o'clock,  and  at 
once  retired  to  bed,  without  again  seeing  my  unfor- 
tunate host. 

"  The  next  morning  I  was  awakened  at  half-past 
seven  by  my  hostess  knocking  at  my  door,  and  inquir- 
ing if  I  had  seen  anything  of  her  husband.  I  re- 
plied that  I  had  seen  nothing  of  him,  but  if  she  was 
anxious  I  would  dress  quickly  and  have  a  look  round 


286  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

for  him.  This  offer  she  accepted  with  gratitude.  The 
station  was  not  far  distant,  and  she  suggested  that  he 
might  have  taken  the  train  to  Manchester.  Would  I 
go  and  make  inquiries? 

"  I  was  soon  on  the  way,  and  interviewed  a  porter, 
who  informed  me  he  had  seen  the  mill  owner  about  an 
hour  ago,  not  on  the  platform,  but  staring  at  the  rails. 
The  man  had  watched  him,  thinking  his  behavior 
suspicious,  and  remembering  the  evil  reputation  of 
his  dwelling,  but  after  a  while  he  had  turned  away, 
and  was  last  seen  walking  rapidly  off  in  the  direction 
of  his  own  home. 

"  I  went  back  and  reported  what  I  had  heard,  and 
the  very  anxious  wife  suggested  that  I  should  snatch 
a  hasty  breakfast  and  then  make  inquiries  at  a  farm 
a  mile  off,  which  was  also  their  property.  This  I 
readily  consented  to  do.  I  was  extremely  sorry  for 
the  poor  woman,  and  though  she  did  not  make  a  con- 
fidant of  me,  I  could  see  she  was  consumed  with 
anxiety. 

"  My  errand  was  quite  fruitless,  nothing  was  known 
of  the  master,  no  one  had  seen  him,  and  back  I  went 
to  the  mill  house,  feeling  by  this  time  that  probably 
the  wife  had  every  cause  for  her  anxiety. 

"  I  saw  nothing  of  her  when  I  entered.  I  looked 
into  every  room  on  the  ground  floor,  and  was  just 
going  to  ring  for  a  servant,  when  I  fancied  I  heard  a 
faint  cry. 

"  I  went  out  into  the  hall  and  listened  intently. 
The  voice  was  calling  from  somewhere  below  the 
ground,  and  I  thought  at  once  of  the  huge  cellars  I 
had  been  shown,  where  once  the  good  old  ale  had  been 
brewed  and  stored.  I  ran  to  the  door  which  led  to 
the  cellars ;  it  was  open,  and  then  I  clearly  heard  a  wo- 


THE  HAUNTED  LODGE  287 

man's  voice  crying,  '  Oh!  bring  a  knife!  bring  a  knife 
quickly ! ' 

"  I  darted  back  into  the  dining-room  and  caught  up 
the  first  knife  I  could  find,  a  ham  carver,  then  hastened 
to  the  door  and  began  descending  the  dark  stairs. 

"  The  cellars  were  fairly  well  lighted  by  two  grated 
windows,  and  a  horrible  sight  met  my  eyes.  There 
stood  the  wife,  bending  under  the  weight  of  her  hus- 
band, who  was  suspended  by  a  rope  round  his  neck 
from  the  great  beam  overhead.  One  glance  at  the 
hideously  distorted  face,  the  glazed  eyes  protruding 
from  their  sockets,  the  gaping  mouth  and  swollen 
tongue,  told  me  the  worst. 

"  Hastily  I  severed  the  rope,  and  the  wife  and  her 
dead  husband  sank  to  the  ground  together. 

"  There  was  little  to  be  done.  We  laid  the  corpse 
flat  on  the  stone  floor,  and  I  persuaded  her  to  leave  it 
and  come  upstairs  with  me,  and  wait  for  the  arrival  of 
the  doctor  and  police.  This  she  consented  to  do. 
She  was  very  quiet  and  composed,  a  curious  apathy 
of  indifference  possessed  her,  and  I  would  far  rather 
have  seen  her  in  floods  of  natural  tears. 

"  By  evening  the  house  had  fallen  into  a  dead  silence. 
The  doctor  had  pronounced  life  to  be  extinct,  and  the 
corpse  had  been  carried  up  to  an  unused  bedroom  im- 
mediately over  the  smoking-room.  The  police  found 
that  the  mill  owner  had  committed  suicide  by  hanging. 
He  had  jumped  off  a  stone  slab,  after  having  adjusted 
the  rope  to  the  beam  and  his  own  throat.  With  the 
exception  of  an  old  nurse  who  was  devoted  to  her 
mistress,  the  servants  all  departed  in  a  body,  and  the 
house  was  left  brooding  under  a  weight  of  intolerable 
depression. 

"  I  did  not  blame  the  servants.     As  a  matter  of 


288  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

fact,  there  was  nothing  I  would  have  liked  better  than 
to  quit  the  mill  house  there  and  then,  and  never  set 
foot  in  it  again,  but  I  had  the  desolate  widow  to  con- 
sider. I  could  not  leave  her  alone,  whilst  there  was 
still  the  smallest  possibility  of  my  being  of  use.  Added 
to  this  I  had  the  queerest  feeling  that  she  required 
protection,  though  from  what  I  would  have  been  at  a 
loss  to  say. 

"  Another  feeling,  which  I  combated  violently, 
was  a  sensation  of  being  mocked  and  jeered  at  by 
some  unseen  entity.  I  was  being  urged  to  get  out  of 
the  house,  to  recognize  my  own  impotence,  to  mind 
my  own  business,  and  when  I  metaphorically  replied, 
'  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan,'  I  could  have  sworn  I 
heard  a  sly  laugh. 

"Of  course  I  told  myself  all  this  was  but  the  result 
of  a  shock  to  the  nerves,  and  I  was  not  going  to  pay 
any  attention  to  it,  so  despite  my  intense  longing  to  run 
out  of  the  house  I  settled  down  with  the  daily  paper, 
a  cigarette,  and  a  novel  in  the  smoking-room,  and 
resolutely  turned  my  thoughts  away  from  the  tragedy. 

"  The  widow,  and  her  old  nurse,  who  had  promised 
me  not  to  leave  her  mistress  for  a  moment,  had  re- 
tired together  for  the  night,  so  I  felt  satisfied,  so  far 
as  they  were  concerned. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  have  dozed  off,  for  I  was  sud- 
denly roused  broad  awake  by  footsteps  overhead,  in 
the  room  where  the  corpse  lay.  I  sat  up  straight  and 
listened  intently.  Were  my  nerves  playing  tricks  with 
me  ?  No ;  certainly  not.  There  was  no  mistaking  that 
sound  for  hallucination.  It  was  perfectly  clear  and 
distinct.  A  man  was  walking  about  overhead,  and 
the  only  man  save  myself  within  these  walls  had 
hanged  himself  by  the  neck  until  he  was  dead.  There 


THE  HAUNTED  LODGE  289 

it  was  —  the  sound.  A  man's  footsteps  pacing  slowly 
up  and  down  the  floor  of  the  bedroom  above,  from 
end  to  end,  backwards  and  forwards. 

"  I  considered  what  I  had  better  do.  I  was  sure 
the  widow  and  the  old  nurse  were  in  the  bedroom,  quite 
at  the  other  end  of  the  house.  Probably  they  were 
both  asleep.  I  hoped  so.  What  had  I  better  do  — 
nothing?  Yet  this  inaction  irked  me.  My  curiosity 
was  intense.  The  supernatural  had  never  occupied 
much  of  my  thoughts,  but  now  it  began  to  do  so. 
Those  steps  must  proceed  from  the  supernatural. 
There  was  no  other  explanation.  I  was  the  only  live 
man  in  the  house. 

"  At  last  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  jumped  up 
and  proceeded  upstairs.  The  lights  had  been  left  to 
me  to  extinguish;  they  were  still  on,  and  I  saw  at 
once  that  the  door  of  the  bedroom  was  open. 

"  I  entered  the  room,  lit  the  gas  and  searched  every 
corner.  No  living  thing  was  present.  The  dead  man 
lay  in  rigid  lines  beneath  a  sheet.  I  left  the  room 
again  in  darkness,  and  carefully  closing  the  door  I 
went  softly  along  to  the  widow's  room,  and  knocked 
very  gently. 

"  The  old  nurse  came  to  the  door.  She  told  me 
her  mistress  was  asleep,  and  that  the  doctor  had  given 
her  a  sleeping  draught.  Neither  of  them  had  left  the 
room  since  they  entered  it  to  go  to  bed,  more  than  an 
hour  ago. 

"  I  went  downstairs  again  and  took  up  the  news- 
paper, but  almost  immediately  the  footsteps  began 
once  more  overhead,  in  the  room  where  the  dead  man 
lay. 

"  The  sound  was  soft  and  stealthy  at  first,  then  it 
grew  louder.  The  same  footsteps  moving  about  the 


290  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

floor,  up  and  down,  up  and  down.  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  say  that  I  felt  a  cold  sweat  break  out  all  over  me. 
I  could  not  stand  that  sound  any  longer.  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  go  to  bed. 

"  I  removed  my  shoes  and  turned  out  the  light. 
As  I  did  so  I  could  have  sworn  I  heard  a  sly,  low  laugh 
behind  me.  I  crept  upstairs.  The  door  of  that  hor- 
rible room  was  again  open.  With  a  shaking  hand  I 
closed  it,  and  hurried  to  my  bedroom,  locking  the  door 
at  once. 

"  The  next  day  I  told  my  experiences  to  one  of  the 
acquaintances  I  had  made,  and  he  volunteered  to  come 
in  and  keep  me  company  until  the  funeral  was  over. 
I  gladly  accepted  his  offer.  I  did  not  hear  the  foot- 
steps again.  I  conclude  because  the  widow  was  sitting 
with  us  on  the  following  nights,  and  the  ghost  had  no 
desire  to  terrify  her." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AURAS 

I  WAS  born  with  the  power  to  see  auras,  and  I 
had  attained  to  quite  a  grown-up  age  before 
I  discovered  that  every  one  could  not  see  them. 

What  is  an  aura?  You  will  see  them  glittering 
round  the  heads  of  saints,  and  of  The  Christ  in  church 
windows.  You  will  see  them  painted  round  the  head 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  round  the  head  of  the  Infant 
she  holds,  but,  indeed,  auras  are  the  property  of  all, 
however  humble  and  lowly.  Nothing  that  has  life, 
be  the  spark  ever  so  faint,  is  without  its  astral  counter- 
part, its  tenuous  surrounding  atmosphere.  Science 
has  demonstrated  this.  Auras  have  now  been  photo- 
graphed. 

Habitual  seeing  of  human  auras  has  made  me  no 
more  or  less  observant  of  them  than  I  am  of  the  hu- 
man face.  If  I  am  asked  by  any  one  to  say  what  her 
aura  looks  like,  I  do  so  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  but 
at  that  complacent  moment  it  is  a  very  tame  affair, 
much  like  the  aura  that  any  one  may  see  surrounding 
a  lighted  candle.  A  medley  of  prismatic  hues,  no  color 
predominating. 

Where  auras  become  really  interesting  is  in  a  room 
full  of  people.  I  look  down  to  the  far  end  of  the  room 
where  a  group  is  seated  talking.  I  cannot  hear  what 
they  are  saying,  but  I  can  tell  at  once  whether  the 
conversation  is  harmonious  or  otherwise. 

291 


292  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Often  there  will  be  one  member  of  the  group  whose 
aura  is  very  disturbed.  It  will  emit  flashes  of  bril- 
liant red  as  he  talks  vehemently.  The  aura  of  the 
man  he  is  addressing  has  turned  a  sulky,  leaden  gray. 

A  woman  who  is  sitting  listening  has  an  aura  of 
intense  boredom.  The  colors  are  all  there,  but  they 
have  become  faded,  and  the  extreme  tips  droop  de- 
jectedly, like  so  many  wilted  blades  of  grass. 

The  biggest  aura  I  ever  saw  was  that  of  the  late 
Mr.  Sexton,  a  great  orator  whom  I  once  heard  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  Some  people  have  mean,  tight 
little  auras,  others  have  great  spreading  haloes  of  bril- 
liant light.  I  met  with  a  very  unusual  aura  quite 
lately. 

A  young  woman,  Miss  L.,  came  to  tea  with  me,  a 
charming,  cultured  woman,  whose  profession  it  is  to 
keep  a  large  girls'  school.  She  is  much  interested  in 
occult  matters,  and  we  "  got  upon  "  the  subject  of  a 
rather  wonderful  case  of  spiritualism  of  which  she 
knows  the  details  —  the  medium  being  a  young  girl 
whom  I  will  call  "  Elsie." 

Whilst  I  was  talking  to  Miss  L.  I  could  not  help 
observing  something  very  peculiar  in  her  aura;  it  was 
all  lopsided.  In  place  of  being  a  complete  circle 
around  her  head,  it  had  a  huge  bulge  out  to  the  left. 
I  had  never  before  seen  an  aura  like  that,  and  it  in- 
terested me  greatly. 

Just  before  leaving  she  mentioned  auras,  and  asked 
me  what  hers  was  like. 

I  told  her  honestly  that  it  was  peculiar,  lopsided, 
and  bulging  on  one  side. 

She  laughed  and  said  she  knew  that,  because  "  Elsie  " 
always  chaffed  her  about  it,  saying,  "  You  wear  your 
halo  all  awry."  This  was  very  interesting  confirma- 


AURAS  293 

tion  of  my  power  to  see  auras  correctly.  I  don't 
know  "  Elsie,"  I  don't  even  know  her  name,  which  has 
been  kept  a  secret,  but  we  evidently  see  Miss  L.'s  aura 
in  exactly  the  same  peculiar  form. 

The  other  day  I  was  sitting  reading  by  the  window, 
and  as  I  moved  in  my  chair  I  caught  sight,  "  with  the 
tail  of  my  eye,"  of  something  bright  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  A  patch  of  light  about  a  foot  deep, 
and  two  feet  long  was  coming  from  behind  the  edge 
of  a  tall  screen  that  hid  a  door.  I  rose  and  walked 
out  of  the  room.  Behind  the  screen  was  a  maid, 
whom  I  had  not  heard  enter  the  open  door.  She  was 
busy  over  some  quiet  work,  and  it  was  her  aura  that 
I  had  seen,  though  she  herself  was  hidden  from  view. 

Once  before  in  my  life  my  attention  has  been  drawn 
to  the  aura  of  one  whom  I  could  not  at  the  moment 
see  in  the  flesh. 

I  happened  to  be  passing  a  glove  shop  in  the  south 
of  France,  and  as  I  strolled  slowly  past  the  door  a 
blaze  of  yellow  gold  inside  the  shop  caught  my  eye, 
and  attracted  my  attention.  I  paused  at  once  and 
looked  through  the  open  door.  This  great  golden  aura 
belonged  to  the  Empress  Elizabeth  of  Austria,  who  was 
standing  at  the  counter.  Her  back  was  turned  towards 
me,  and  I  stood  for  a  minute  watching  this  aura  of 
a  woman  whose  restless  imagination,  and  passionate 
love  for  the  bitter  wine  of  liberty,  brought  her  finally 
to  an  absolutely  fitting  death.  I  believe  she  would 
have  chosen  this  death  before  all  others,  for  at  heart 
she  was  a  born  anarchist.  She  fell  painlessly  by  the 
dagger  of  anarchism. 

One  effect  of  being  able  to  see  auras  is  that  they  fix 
certain  incidents  firmly  in  the  mind.  I  remember  one 
such  incident  very  clearly.  I  was  staying  at  Ha- 


294  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

warden  with  the  Gladstones  whilst  the  Irish  troubles 
of  '82  were  at  their  height.  One  afternoon  we  were 
all  assembled  on  the  lawn  having  tea;  Mr.  Gladstone 
was  standing  rather  apart,  his  hands  full  of  papers, 
which  had  just  been  brought  to  him.  I  saw  him  un- 
fold what  looked  like  a  large  poster,  glance  at  it, 
then  suddenly  he  dashed  it  to  the  ground  and  stamped 
viciously  upon  it.  I  heard  him  give  vent  to  some  ex- 
clamations of  intense  anger,  but  had  I  heard  nothing 
I  could  not  have  failed  to  know  he  was  desperately  an- 
noyed over  something,  for  he  was  suddenly  wrapped 
in  a  brilliant  crimson  cloud,  through  which  sharp 
flashes  like  lightning  darted  hither  and  thither.  He 
was  "  seeing  red." 

I  remember  Mrs.  Gladstone  murmuring  something 
about  "  posters  being  torn  down  in  Ireland,"  but  I  was 
too  thrilled  over  her  husband's  aura  to  pay  much  heed 
to  what  she  said.  I  shall  never  forget  that  scene,  and 
the  practical  disappearance  of  Mr.  Gladstone  in  the 
enveloping  folds  of  a  great  red  cloud.  In  a  minute  or 
two  he  emerged,  and  resumed  his  habitual  aura,  which 
extended  to  about  two  and  a  half  feet  beyond  his  head, 
and  was  largely  tinged  with  purple. 

At  Hawarden  Church  on  Sunday,  whilst  he  read  the 
lessons,  I  watched  his  aura  with  much  interest,  be- 
cause it  changed  so  continuously,  and  I  discovered 
that  this  change  arose  out  of  his  absorption  in  what  he 
read.  Only  one  little  example  can  I  remember  to 
illustrate  what  I  mean.  "  And  the  heart  of  Pharaoh 
was  hardened  and  he  would  not  let  the  people  go." 

In  reading  those  words  aloud  Mr.  Gladstone's  aura 
deepened  to  red,  and  I  saw  he  was  very  indignant  with 
Pharaoh's  behavior.  During  the  sermon  he  sat  fac- 
ing us  in  our  pew,  and  in  a  chair  just  beneath  the  pul- 


AURAS 


295 


pit,  and  I  could  tell  by  watching  his  aura  just  how  he 
felt  about  the  discourse. 

Later  on,  just  after  the  tragic  murders  by  the 
Fenians  in  Phoenix  Park  of  Lord  Frederick  Cavendish 
and  Mr.  Bourke,  I  received  a  note  from  Mrs.  Glad- 
stone, asking  me  to  go  to  breakfast  with  them  in  their 
London  house  in  Buckingham  Gate.  When  I  arrived 
the  first  person  I  saw  was  Lady  Frederick  Cavendish, 
calm  and  composed,  and  bearing  her  loss  with  quiet 
stoicism,  but  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  was  very 
different  from  that  of  Hawarden.  A  gloom  was  over 
all,  and  for  the  first  time  I  noticed  that  Mr.  Glad- 
stone's aura  was  depressed  and  tired.  Its  vigorous 
vibrations  had  considerably  slowed  down,  like  a  jet 
of  flame  that  had  been  turned  low,  and  the  extremities 
drooped  dejectedly. 

Though  crimson  red  is  the  color  of  anger,  there  is 
a  beautiful  soft  rose  which  is  the  color  of  love.  The 
"  green-eyed  monster  "  of  jealousy  history  has  handed 
down  to  us  from  the  ancient  seers,  also  the  "  jaun- 
diced "  appearance  of  envy.  A  gloomy,  grumbling 
person  has  a  very  leaden  gray  atmosphere,  and  one 
who  has  "  a  fit  of  the  blues  "  shows  he  is  "  off  color  " 
in  his  dull,  muddy  blue  aura.  But  there  is  a  beautiful 
sky-blue  to  be  seen  in  the  auras  of  many  artists  and 
scientists.  Very  material,  earthly  people  have  gener- 
ally a  deep,  dull  orange  tinge  in  their  astral  envelope, 
and  there  is  a  glorious  golden  yellow  surrounding 
the  heads  of  the  spiritually  joyful  and  highly  intellec- 
tual. Purple  is  the  color  of  power,  greatness.  Chil- 
dren have  an  aura  of  crystal  whiteness,  which  develops 
color  after  the  age  of  seven. 

I  remember  the  aura  of  Frederic  Myers  very  well. 
A  large  and  intensely  spiritual  halo.  He  is  the  only 


296  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

man  I  can  remember  in  those  days  —  about  'g2-g6  — 
as  having  an  aura  within  an  aura,  though  this  phenom- 
enon is  now  becoming  more  marked.  "  A  rainbow 
was  about  his  head,"  those  words  explain  exactly  what 
I  mean.  About  a  foot  above  his  head  circled  a  pure 
rainbow,  and  this  beautiful  decoration  looked  as  if  it 
were  superimposed  upon  the  original  aura,  which 
streamed  out  far  above  it.  I  have  only  as  yet,  in  these 
later  years,  seen  this  rainbow  above  the  heads  of  two 
people:  one  alive,  Miss  Maud  Roydon,  one  alas!  gone 
west  —  the  incomparable  Elsie  Inglis.  I  conclude  it 
means  a  degree  of  self-sacrificing  spirituality,  which  as 
yet  has  been  attained  to  by  very  few.  Indeed,  I  would 
venture  further,  and  assert  that  it  stands  for  a  certain 
initiation  conferred  upon  "  the  beloved "  by  the 
Masters  of  Wisdom. 

King  Edward  was  blessed  by  a  very  fine  aura  of 
constantly  changing  colors.  I  remember  once  noticing 
this  in  the  most  unspiritual  of  environments,  and 
whilst  the  King  was  still  Prince  of  Wales. 

We  were  on  Newmarket  Heath,  and  His  Majesty 
came  up  to  me  and  said,  "  I  hear  you  are  married." 
After  a  few  minutes  of  friendly  conversation,  which 
had  taken  an  amusingly  domestic  turn,  he  said  to  me, 
"  Now,  how  much  has  your  husband  got  a  year?  " 

There  was  nothing  in  the  question  but  the  most 
friendly  interest;  still,  it  will  naturally  seem  strange 
that  he  should  have  possessed  the  faintest  curiosity  as 
to  the  financial  situation  of  so  humble  a  member  of  his 
people. 

Whilst  he  put  the  question,  and  waited  for  the 
answer,  his  whole  aura  and  atmosphere  deepened  and 
intensified.  He  was  actually  interested  in  my  answer, 


AURAS  297 

and  this  I  have  always  believed  was  the  fundamental 
reason  of  his  great  popularity.  The  power  he  pos- 
sessed of  throwing  himself  heart  and  soul  into  the 
trivial,  as  into  the  great  things  of  life.  He  was  in- 
tensely human,  with  a  genuine  fund  of  sympathy  for 
the  ordinary  affairs  of  life.  He  liked  to  know  the  do- 
mestic conditions  of  those  whom  he  honored  with  his 
friendship,  and  the  first  time  I  ever  spoke  to  him,  at  a 
dance  given  by  the  Rothschilds  in  Piccadilly,  I  saw  at 
once  that  the  natural  human  simplicities  of  life 
absorbed  him  absolutely  whilst  under  discussion. 
Though  a  man  who  would  not  tolerate  a  liberty,  the 
easiest  way  to  get  on  with  him  when  alone,  was  to 
confide  in  him  any  personal  difficulty,  and  to  forget 
who  he  was,  always  providing  that  one  had  the  good 
breeding  to  remember  instantly  that  he  was  the  king 
when  speaking  to  him  in  public. 

The  most  occult  day  (to  use  the  popular  expression) 
I  ever  spent  was  the  26th  June,  1902,  the  day  of  the 
postponed  Coronation.  I  shall  never  forget  that  warm 
summer  day  of  stupendous  gloom,  and  oppressive 
darkness.  There  was  something  more  than  meteor- 
ology in  that  leaden  pall  that  hid  the  skies,  and  en- 
veloped the  whole  of  London.  Even  the  densest  ma- 
terialists were  uneasy,  startled  and  inquiring,  for 
putting  aside  that  mighty  aura  of  sorrow  and  gloom 
rising  up  to  heaven  from  the  hearts  of  millions,  there 
was,  as  it  were,  the  response  of  heaven  herself.  That 
dark  and  mournful  response  Nature  assumed,  when 
wrapping  herself  in  a  shroud  of  leaden  darkness  she 
brooded  over  the  city,  like  the  pall  of  death  itself. 
That  day  the  mystic  walked  in  a  dream,  enmeshed 
in  the  warp  of  great  occult  happenings  being  woven 


298  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

out  in  the  loom  of  Karmic  fatality.  It  was  impossible 
to  settle  down  to  doing  anything.  One  just  "  sat 
about,"  living  every  moment  intensely. 

Once,  when  presenting  a  girl  at  Court,  during  the 
present  reign,  I  noticed  what  a  very  striking  aura  John 
Burns  possesses.  This  girl  naturally  wished  to  see  all 
she  could,  so  we  went  to  the  Palace  very  early,  and 
found  a  seat  in  the  Throne  Room,  close  to  where  the 
King  and  Queen  would  sit  later  on.  In  a  short  time 
celebrities  began  to  stroll  into  the  royal  circles,  divided 
from  us  by  a  cord.  First  came  the  present  Lord  Grey 
of  Falloden,  and  then  came  Mr.  John  Burns,  re- 
splendent in  dark  blue  knee  breeches  and  gold-em- 
broidered coat.  He  moved  about  quite  familiarly  in- 
side the  holy  of  holies,  speaking  first  to  one,  then  an- 
other of  the  gathering  little  crowd.  Being  so  close 
to  him  I  observed  him  with  unusual  interest.  His 
aura  is  very  large,  and  what  I  can  only  describe  as 
massive,  and  already  it  was  tinged  by  the  gray  veil 
of  disappointment.  I  have  seen  him  several  times 
since,  and  the  veil  has  become  more  opaque.  What  in- 
terested me  so  profoundly  in  him  that  night  were  the 
contrasts  I  knew  to  exist  in  his  life,  and  which  must 
have  profoundly  influenced  his  outlook  on  human 
existence. 

One  afternoon  I  was  walking  alone  up  Piccadilly. 
There  had  been  rumors  of  coming  riots,  but  no  one 
in  the  West  End  gave  any  credence  to  such  silly  stories, 
and  the  streets  were  full  of  the  usual  gay  throng, 
intent  on  amusement. 

Suddenly,  as  I  walked  along,  a  youth  on  a  bicycle 
dashed  past  the  pavement,  shouting  something  I  could 
not  catch.  More  men  on  bicycles  followed.  The 
promenaders  began  to  "  sit  up  and  take  notice." 


AURAS  299 

Carriage  horses  were  being  -smartly  whipped  up,  and 
women  began  to  scurry  nervously. 

Then  it  seemed  to  me  I  could  hear  something 
above  the  roar  of  the  ordinary  traffic,  a  hoarse  pro- 
longed shout.  Servants  now  appeared  on  doorsteps, 
and  looked  about  anxiously  for  non-existent  police- 
men, others  began  closing  outside  shutters  before 
windows.  Just  as  I  reached  the  Naval  and  Military 
Club  I  saw  that  the  servants  had  come  out,  and  were 
about  to  close  both  great  gates — "In"  and  "Out." 
One  of  these  men  pointed  up  the  street  and  advised  me 
at  once  to  seek  cover,  and  I  saw  in  the  dim  distance 
what  looked  like  a  mighty  crowd  advancing. 

In  a  second  I  had  darted  through  the  gates,  and  was 
safely  inside  before  they  closed  upon  the  approaching 
mob. 

I  have  only  a  very  confused  memory  of  what  hap- 
pened after.  Of  kindly  attentions  from  the  members. 
Of  women's  shrieks  as  their  carriages  were  stopped, 
and  their  valuables  taken  from  them.  Of  the 
deafening  roar  of  furious  male  voices,  crashings  of 
glass  windows,  howls  of  savage  exultation,  as  a 
hosier's  shop  close  by  fell  victim  to  the  rioters,  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  from  terrified  horses.  I  could  see 
nothing,  but  the  battering  upon  the  club  gates  added 
tenfold  to  the  terrifying  din.  The  members  withdrew, 
taking  me  with  them,  to  the  house,  and  prepared  to 
hold  it  against  the  furious  mob,  should  the  gates  give 
way. 

Such  wild  moments  are  not  easily  forgotten,  and 
why  I  looked  upon  John  Burns  that  night  at  Court 
with  such  a  peculiar  interest  was  because  he  led  that 
riot,  and  suffered  imprisonment  for  so  doing. 

Looking  upon   him   in   Court   dress,   in   the   royal 


300  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

enclosure,  on  intimate  terms  with  the  great  of  the 
world,  though  perhaps  not  the  great  of  the  earth, 
knowing  him  to  hold  high  office  in  the  government, 
I  marked  the  change.  Then  throwing  back  my  mind 
to  those  poignant  hours  in  the  past,  which  he  had 
created,  I  felt  that  nothing  is  too  extraordinary  to 
belong  to  the  careers  of  some  men;  they  live  through 
several  lives  in  one.  Their  Karma  is  so  crowded  with 
stirring  events,  in  the  working  out  of  the  past,  in  the 
makings  of  the  future,  that  nothing  human  can  be  any 
longer  strange  to  them.  The  auras  of  such  men  are 
naturally  great,  because  such  contrasts  of  light  and 
shade  only  come  in  the  lives  of  men  possessed  of  great 
and  lofty  ideals. 

For  some  years  little  has  been  heard  of  the  former 
idol  of  Battersea.  He  is  facing  west  now,  though  a 
ray  or  two  of  dawning  light  may  still  touch  him  in  the 
near  future.  That  wild  idealism  which  comes  to  men 
who  keep  their  eyes  fixed  upon  a  dawn  so  long  in 
coming,  fades  out  behind  the  veil  of  disillusion,  as  the 
days  come  not,  and  the  years  draw  nigh  with  no 
pleasure  in  them.  Man's  ingratitude  to  man  is  one 
of  the  crudest  tests  imposed  upon  the  soul  of  idealism. 
The  soul  that  can  bear  it  without  a  tinge  of  cynicism 
has  risen  to  mighty  heights. 

Such  grandeur  of  soul  was  possessed  by  Elsie 
Inglis.  So  impregnated  was  she  with  pure  love  of 
humanity,  that  when  her  own  country  virtually  turned 
its  back  upon  her,  this  irreparable  disgrace,  brought 
upon  themselves  by  her  own  people,  cast  no  shadow 
upon  her  soul.  In  the  years  before  the  war  I  often 
noted  her  lovely  aura  as  I  sat  amongst  an  audience, 
and  watched  her  on  a  platform  fighting  woman's 
battle. 


AURAS  301 

After  the  war  broke  out  I  only  saw  her  once,  by 
the  merest  chance.  It  was  then  I  marked  that  a 
rainbow  was  now  about  her  head,  and  T  knew  at  once 
that  tremendous  events  were  in  store  for  her,  though 
the  British  Government  had  refused  her  services.  Ah ! 
the  poor  little  cramped  mind  of  England's  officialism! 
yet  has  not  this  very  poverty  of  imagination, 
this  iron-bound  worship  of  worn-out  tradition, 
brought  to  birth  an  internationalism  which  could 
never  have  been  ours  without  it?  It  drove  forth 
hundreds,  thousands  of  ardent  souls,  to  other  lands. 
Rejected  by  their  own,  they  clasped  the  pierced  hands 
of  strangers,  and  laid  down  their  own  incomparably 
gallant  lives  at  the  foot  of  a  cross,  whereon  hung  those 
who  had  at  length  become  their  brothers  through  a 
commune  of  agony. 

Elsie  Inglis  received  no  honor  or  decoration  from 
the  people,  or  the  "  Great  of  England."  Only  the 
body,  worn  very  thin  in  the  service  of  humanity,  was 
at  last  honored  in  death.  Knowing  the  woman,  and 
the  stuff  she  was  made  of,  one  can  only  feel  intensely 
this  was  all  as  it  should  have  been.  To  offer  Elsie 
Inglis  a  medal  would  have  been  a  sacrilege.  "  Hands 
off  such  souls  as  hers,"  is  the  cry  one's  every  instinct 
rings  forth  to  the  "  bauble  worshipers  "  of  this  world. 
Besides,  and  this  is  a  very  great  besides,  those  who  go 
with  a  rainbow  about  their  heads  are  not  destined  for 
earthly  honors.  They  have  taken  the  great  step,  they 
have  received  the  great  Initiation,  a  jewel  in  the  blazing 
crown  of  eternity,  and  for  them  no  more  are  the  laurel 
wreaths  that  perish.  In  justice  to  those  throned  on 
high  on  earth,  the  above  should  be  remembered.  If 
it  is  with  Elsie  Inglis,  as  I  fully  believe,  she  would  have 
understood  that  for  her  God  and  Mammon  were 


302  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

eternally  divorced,  and  any  attempt  at  worldly  recog- 
nition would  have  been  frustrated  by  "  The  Lords  of 
Eternal  Light  and  Wisdom,"  whose  chosen  disciple  she 
had  become. 

The  psychology  of  the  people  is  a  very  interesting 
and  curious  study,  to  the  aura  seer.  The  analysis  of 
the  collective  mind  awaits  some  great  writer  who  will 
give  us  a  book  of  absorbing  interest.  Those  who  can 
see  auras  have  a  great  advantage,  if  they  are  public 
speakers.  During  the  period  of  my  life,  when  I  had 
a  great  deal  of  political  platform  work,  I  was  always 
very  sensitive  to  my  audiences,  because  I  could  see 
how  they  were  taking  my  remarks.  I  have  always 
found  big  audiences  of  the  people  very  colorless  in  the 
main.  Flashes  of  bright  color  would  be  apparent  all 
over  the  hall,  but  there  was  no  sustained  glow.  Whilst 
sitting  on  some  one  else's  platform,  often  that  of  a 
great  orator,  I  have  marked  exactly  the  same  phe- 
nomenon. The  soul  of  the  people  is  still  young  and 
childlike.  It  has  the  indifference  of  extreme  youth, 
the  forget  fulness  and  ingratitude  of  extreme  youth. 

I  look  back  upon  the  fall  of  Parnell  and  Dilke, 
great  minds  whose  earthly  careers  were  destroyed  by 
the  people.  All  the  world  knows  why.  To-day  I  look 
on  the  "  perpetrators  "  of  the  Gallipoli  and  Mesopo- 
tamia tragedies,  and  I  see  they  have  all  gone  up  higher 
in  the  esteem  of  the  people.  They  have  risen  in  the 
world,  and  are  looked  upon  as  ripe  for  even  higher 
office.  The  poor  human  brain  reels  before  such 
anomalies.  I  was  in  London  when  the  Gallipoli  re- 
ports were  given  to  the  public.  They  shook  me  to 
the  very  foundation  of  my  being.  I  think  they  were 
given  out  towards  the  end  of  the  week,  because  I 
remember  saying  to  myself,  "  on  Sunday  morning  the 


AURAS  303 

British  working  man  and  woman  will  read  all  this 
abomination  of  desolation  and  crime  in  their  Sunday 
paper." 

Purposely  I  strolled  about  the  London  parks  in  the 
lovely  afternoon  of  that  Sunday.  Crowds  were  there, 
reading,  courting,  sleeping.  I  went  home  realizing 
that  no  one  cared.  The  collective  aura  of  the  people 
was  as  serene  and  indifferent  as  ever. 

I  have  come  to  think  more  kindly  of  our  people's 
pathetic  indifference,  because  I  am  sure  it  is  the  in- 
difference of  very  young  souls,  who  have  passed 
through  but  few  incarnations,  and  "  know  not  what 
they  do."  I  see  them  exploited  by  the  politicians, 
given  a  rag  doll  to  amuse  themselves  with,  anything 
will  do,  from  the  big  loaf  to  the  "  Kayzer,"  and  sent 
to  the  polls  hugging  their  golliwog,  but  I  doubt  the 
returning  troops  being  so  easily  amused  and  deluded. 

The  state  of  the  Universe  is  the  expression  of  man's 
desire,  and  man  is  really  the  builder  of  his  own  body, 
that  "  house  not  made  with  hands,"  though  in  his 
youthful  ignorance  he  attributes  both  to  an  over- 
ruling intelligence,  whom  he  alternately  blesses  and 
curses.  When  men  learn  that  they  must  work  with, 
and  not  against  the  mental  laws,  they  will  no  longer 
ask  why  God  permits  the  world  to  be  so  full  of  misery. 
They  will  cease  to  erect  a  scapegoat,  because  they 
will  have  learned  that  they  are  the  makers  of  their 
own  misery  or  happiness. 

Many  people  seem  to  think  that  the  power  to  see 
auras  must  be  very  useful  in  helping  one  to  distinguish 
between  friends  and  foes,  but  such  is  not  really  the  case. 
Auras  exemplify  individual  character,  not  individual 
predilections,  and  some  of  my  friends  being  very  bad 
characters,  indeed,  have  shocking  auras.  I  had  one 


304  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

great  friend  who,  at  the  beginning  of  our  acquaintance, 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  prison,  which  was  really  a 
blessing  for  his  ill-used  wife.  His  aura  was  literally 
in  tatters,  just  a  little  irregular  circle  of  rags  and 
patches. 

I  had  just  succeeded  in  making  him  sober,  by  in- 
sisting constantly  and  most  seriously  that  he  was 
"  a  cut  above  the  public-house,"  and  much  too  superior 
a  man  to  mix  with  such  degraded  companions,  when 
the  war  broke  out.  He  went  to  the  front,  and  on  his 
first  return  to  Blighty,  badly  gassed,  he  came  at  once  to 
see  me.  I  really  felt  a  sort  of  personal  pride  in  him, 
and  an  actual  sense  of  personal  possession  in  his 
enormously  grown  aura.  It  was  clear  evidence  of  his 
sprouting  soul.  He  went  back  to  France,  but  was 
wounded  and  again  gassed,  and  this  time  his  return  was 
final,  as  he  was  of  no  further  use. 

For  a  few  months  he  did  odd  jobs  with  great 
difficulty,  then,  finally,  he  succumbed  to  pneumonia.  I 
was  very  proud  indeed  of  his  aura  as  I  sat  beside  his 
bed,  his  hand  in  mine.  There  was  real  love  in  my 
heart  for  him  that  day.  Here,  indeed,  was  an  infant 
soul  that  had  begun  to  develop  on  the  right  road,  and 
the  tattered  aura  of  rags  and  patches  had  become  a 
neatly  trimmed  little  halo  round  his  poor  tired  head. 

So  he  went  west,  and  his  broken  body,  wrapped  in 
the  British  flag,  went  to  a  soldier's  grave,  and  a  firing- 
party  gave  him  the  Last  Post. 

His  wife  returned  home  to  find  that  her  neighbors, 
anxious  to  celebrate  the  occasion,  had  brought  their 
best  china  and  had  arranged  a  tea-party.  As  we  sat 
down,  she  turned  to  me  and  said : 

"  Well,  thank  God,  my  man's  been  buried  like  a 
gentleman." 


AURAS  305 

When  I  came  to  think  it  over  I  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  "  the  worst  character  in  the  slums  " 
had  not  done  so  badly  with  his  life,  after  all.  He  had 
died  like  a  gentleman.  The  British  Flag  is  a  strange 
case  of  transubstantiation.  At  first,  just  so  many 
pieces  of  common  material  sold  across  a  counter. 
Fashioned  into  the  emblem  of  our  Nation  it  becomes  a 
sacred  symbol,  taken  kneeling  like  a  sacrament,  which 
indeed  it  has  become.  What  better  shroud  could  any 
man  ask  for? 

I  am  sorry  that  I  have  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing 
President  Wilson's  aura,  the  man  who  has  turned 
his  face  towards  a  heavenly  ideal,  and  is  scattering 
the  seed  amongst  all  the  nations.  When  a  man  sets 
out  on  such  a  long  radiant  path,  he  will  carry  visibly 
in  the  daylight  an  illuminated  brow.  He  has  brought 
to  us  the  vision  without  which  the  people  perish. 

The  life  of  the  heart  has  always  meant  much  more 
to  me  than  the  life  of  the  head.  The  rebel  by  nature 
can  only  be  held  by  love,  and  I  have  been  blest  by 
twenty-eight  years  of  perfect  union  with  one  who  has 
given  me  love  for  love,  faith  for  faith,  and  complete 
intellectual  understanding.  My  life  has  also  been 
wonderfully  gifted  by  staunchest  friends,  who  have 
loved  me  through  sunshine  and  storm,  and  who 
still  clasp  hands  with  me  across  continents  and  seas. 
I  suppose  I  must  have  enemies.  They  say  every 
one  has,  but  they  have  never  made  me  aware  of  their 
enmity,  perhaps  because  there  is  no  room  in  a  very 
full  heart  to  receive  aught  but  love.  If  I  were  to 
single  apart  one  outstanding  feature  in  my  life,  it 
would  be  the  wonderful  kindness  and  friendship  that 
has  been  given  to  me.  Ah!  how  easy  that  makes  it 
to  write  lovingly  of  others. 


306  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Behind  all  this  lies  the  master  passion  of  the  born 
mystic  for  liberation.  The  constant  ache  and  urge  for 
real  freedom,  and  power  to  be  victorious  over  all  cir- 
cumstances. At  home  in  all  scenes,  restful  in  all 
fortunes.  There  is  the  urge  of  the  soul  for  universal- 
ity of  contact  with  all  humanity,  independent  of  race, 
color  or  creed.  The  urge  of  the  spirit  to  smash  the 
confines  which  pinion  it  down  to  earth. 

I  think  it  is  really  the  urge  of  reincarnating  life  still 
clinging  to  me.  The  knowledge  that  my  immortal 
soul  must  return  to  the  House  of  Bondage,  until  per- 
fection is  reached,  and  there  is  the  going  out  no  more 
from  the  Father's  House,  from  a  freedom  which  has 
become  supreme. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ADIEU 

TO-DAY   there   are   many,    an    ever-swelling 
number,  who  behold  with  joy  the  gates  ajar, 
who  standing  in  the  twilight  catch  momen- 
tary glimpses  of  dawn  upon  the  horizon  of  time,  who 
know  by  personal  experience  that  they  have  come  into 
touch  with  a  region  where  vast  schemes  are  conceived, 
and  universal  laws  of  boundless  magnitude  connected 
with  the  soul's  eternal  pilgrimage  are  carried  out. 

Again,  there  are  others,  timid,  shrinking  souls  to 
whom,  by  a  mere  chance  combination  of  circumstances, 
a  glimpse  has  been  shown  which  is  none  too  welcome. 
Such  affrighted  ones  drop  the  eyelids  from  the  startling 
vision.  They  will  have  none  of  it,  and  they  are  free  to 
accept  or  reject,  go  on,  or  stand  still. 

Others,  again,  have  actually  been  born  with  that 
super-normal  sight  which  can  discern  the  workings 
behind  the  drop  scene  shrouding  the  stupendous  drama 
of  cosmic  government. 

I  have  long  been  conscious  that  the  veil  has  worn 
very  thin  between  myself  and  another  world  lying 
around  me.  As  the  years  draw  swiftly  on,  and  every 
second  thrown  back  into  eternity  brings  me  nearer  to 
blessed  deliverance  I  find  the  rents  in  the  veil  grow 
more  numerous.  They  bring  single  shining  moments, 
which  reveal  the  spirit  of  life,  its  motives  and  conse- 
cration. 

307 


3o8  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

Through  the  driving  storm  wrack  there  will  come 
quite  suddenly  a  brilliant  heavenly  glimpse.  It  never 
lasts  long,  but  long  enough  to  show  me  reality.  Some- 
thing of  the  vastness  of  cosmos  and  the  pathetic 
minuteness  of  this  earth,  just  a  speck  of  star  dust  in 
the  palm  of  God,  an  atom  of  world  stuff  swinging  in 
boundless  space. 

Something  of  the  reality  of  those  shining  ones 
who  guide  the  progression  of  natural  order,  embodi- 
ments of  resistless  energy  and  of  stateliest  imperial 
mien. 

Glimpses  that  show  to  me  what  was  in  the  mind 
of  the  great  Christian  Mystic  when  he  wrote  of  a 
mighty  angel :  "  A  rainbow  was  upon  his  head,  and 
his  face  was  as  it  were  the  sun,  and  his  feet  as  pillars 
of  fire." 

Behind  such  visions  extend  vast  ranges  of  being, 
quite  outside  my  ken,  yet,  nevertheless,  speaking  to 
me  of  things,  for  the  expression  of  which  no  words 
have  yet  been  coined.  Infinitely  greater  than  any- 
thing that  can  be  said.  Significant  in  meaning 
beyond  expression,  and  far  transcending  imagina- 
tion. 

Such  glimpses  show  to  me  lives  that  as  compared 
with  ours,  are  as  ours  to  the  tiniest  insect  afloat  for  an 
hour  on  the  breath  of  the  south  wind.  Lives  which 
ordain  the  fateful  hour  when  the  rise  and  fall  of  em- 
pires, the  destruction  of  nations,  and  the  clash  of 
worlds,  and  their  cosmic  significance  in  world  history 
shall  begin  or  end.  Where  things  life  promised  but 
never  gave  come  to  full  fruition. 

Other  glimpses  and  echoes  from  the  Great  Beyond 
bring  to  me  the  answer  to  a  problem,  a  few  notes  and  a 
new  melody,  a  new  energy  of  hope  and  love,  an  inspire- 


ADIEU  309 

tion  from  the  Great  Brotherhood,  whose  lowliest  dis- 
ciple I  am,  whose  work  to  establish  the  Brotherhood, 
the  true  affinity  of  humanity  upon  earth  I  hold  most 
dear,  most  high. 

In  the  present  dark  hour  all  the  world  is  drinking 
of  one  chalice,  its  wine  the  life  outpoured  for  others. 
All  humanity  is  partaking  of  one  bread,  a  body  which 
has  most  truly  and  literally  being  given  to  be  broken. 
Death  has  left  many  songs  unsung,  a  myriad  graves 
are  filled,  youth  is  blighted  in  the  bud,  in  this  white 
winter  men  call  death,  and  its  cup  is  pressed  close  to 
the  lips  of  love.  Many  are  the  hopes  that  lie  folded 
away  in  the  quiet  cemetery  of  the  heart,  where  we  lay 
flowers  of  tender  reminiscence.  Yet,  this  sacrament 
of  fellowship  which  is  eclipsed  in  the  awful  impoverish- 
ment of  human  life  will  one  day  be  swelled  by  the  re- 
turn of  the  young,  fallen  on  the  Field  of  Honor,  glori- 
fied and  purified  for  their  God-appointed  work  in 
evolution. 

Perhaps  I  have  gone  a  few  steps  farther  than  most 
people  into  the  mysterious  beyond,  come  nearer 
reading  the  great  riddle,  for  the  creature  who  is  not 
afraid  of  thought  and  worldly  condemnation,  who  is 
not  afraid  of  solitude  or  ridicule,  will  soon  come  near 
the  truth,  will  quickly  catch  the  incommunicable  thrill 
of  advancing  destinies.  She  will  cease  to  live  under 
the  despotism  of  days,  the  tyranny  of  years.  She  will 
know  that  the  swiftest  touch  cannot  put  a  finger  on 
the  present,  and  that  there  is  but  one  recorder  of  time, 
the  great  star  clock  of  the  sky. 

The  symbol  of  life  is  the  Circle,  not  the  Straight  line, 
and  each  of  us  lives  over  again  the  story  of  humanity, 
as  in  the  shadow  of  pre-natal  gloom  we  repeat  the 
physical  evolution  of  the  race.  The  increase  of  knowl- 


310  GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 

edge  but  widens  the  horizon  of  the  unknown  promised 
land,  to  which  we  are  moving  onward  and  upward 
throughout  the  ages. 

However  far  the  mind  travels  there  is  always  deep 
down  in  the  soul  stores  of  information  awaiting  trans- 
ference to  the  surface  of  consciousness.  Rich  mines 
of  knowledge  are  there  awaiting  the  day  when  they  will 
be  uncovered,  waiting  in  patience  the  day  when  some 
Divine  Adventurer  will  search  for  them  and  bring 
them  to  light. 

However  great  its  aspirations  the  soul  but  looks  out 
upon  an  illimitable  horizon,  and  sees  the  human 
pilgrimage  as  a  long  Emmaeus  walk,  with  hearts 
burning  by  the  way.  Always  must  there  be  mystery 
in  life,  because  life  is  spiritual,  not  material.  The 
presence  of  mystery  in  life  is  the  presence  of  God,  and 
the  infinity  of  God  shows  that  mystery  must  always 
exist. 

Such  glimpses  beyond  the  veil  are  all  transfiguring. 
They  exalt  the  heart  in  a  single  flash  to  a  glow  point, 
and  show  the  soul  of  the  Universe  in  the  incandescent 
crucible  of  the  eternal.  In  a  deeply  beshadowed  time 
such  visions  tell  us  all  that  we  need  know,  and  it  is 
this:  God  is  with  us  and  in  us.  Though  obscure  for 
the  moment  His  transcendence  stands  outside  the 
change  and  flux  of  time,  and  His  awful  sovereignty 
sways  irresistibly  the  tides  of  human  circumstances. 

Hours  must  come  when  the  pen  falls  from  the 
nerveless  fingers,  the  task  is  left  undone,  when  the 
weary  cry  goes  up,  "  There  is  nothing  we  can  do !  " 
We  have  been  doing  for  so  many  thousand  years,  the 
years  which  the  locusts  hath  eaten.  What  have  we 
achieved  ? 


ADIEU  311 

When  such  hours  come,  as  come  they  must,  is  there 
nothing  to  fall  back  upon  but  this  awful  confession  of 
failure,  this  haunting  undertone  of  all  our  mortal  life 
that  many  ages  have  not  hushed  ? 

Surely,  yes!  There  is  always  for  the  mystic  the 
unmeasured  immensity  of  soul  land  to  explore,  that 
Great  Beyond  and  within  which  is  infinite,  eternal,  and 
of  which  we  are  all  a  part. 

Ah!  but  it  may  be  said,  all  are  not  mystics,  to 
which  I  would  reply,  all  who  desire  can  be  mystics. 
For  what,  after  all,  is  a  mystic,  but  one  who  enters  into 
possession  of  the  inner  life?  One  who  becomes  fully 
aware  of  her  self-consciousness,  and  who  gains  thereby 
new  faculties  and  enlightenment.  It  places  her  in 
touch  with  that  supreme  reality  which  some  call  God 
and  some  The  Great  Creative  Power.  The  mystic 
knows  that  power  is  to  be  found  within  through  identi- 
fication and  submergence  with  the  Primordial  Force 
which  constitutes  the  ocean  of  life.  She  can  always 
pass  the  sky  and  clouds  of  earth,  and  enter  the  great, 
deep,  real  world  outside.  It  is  always  possible  to  her 
to  seek  a  fairer  world  where  the  only  things  that  matter 
are  the  eternal  verities,  which  should  be  taken  kneel- 
ing, like  a  sacrament. 

Love  and  life  which  is  Beauty. 
Love  and  power  which  is  Goodness. 
Love  and  knowledge  which  is  Wisdom. 

The  Road  of  the  Flaming  Sacred  Heart  is  strewn 
with  insight,  kindness  and  sympathy,  which  gives  eyes 
to  the  blind,  ears  to  the  deaf,  and  a  voice  to  the  dumb ! 
It  is  paved  with  love  that  serves  the  humble  and  de- 
fends the  disinherited.  Bravely  it  walks  the  Via  Dolo- 


312 


GHOSTS  I  HAVE  SEEN 


rosa,  and  it  "  Beareth  all  things,  believeth  all  things, 
hopeth  all  things,  its  reward  to  know  the  love  of  God, 
unutterable  even  to  them  that  know."jf 

The  Mystic  can  face  the  future  without  fear,  for 
the  power  has  been  given  her  to  take  her  soul,  and  like 
a  carrier  dove  loose  it  into  space,  t«  speed  away  into 
the  fathomless,  the  everlasting,  the  voiceless  deep 
whose  silence  is  the  "  Welcome  Home  "  of  God. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAI 

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